Trapped: Ranger's Apprentice
by TempestLullaby
Summary: A Thirteen-Year-Old girl is trapped in the world of Ranger's Apprentice, alone and scared, forced to depend on those she read about in an unknown land. When a dark force threatens Araluen, will she find the strength to stop it?
1. The Fall

My first story, I'm glad that you're reading it. I'll try to update as soon as I can, maybe not as soon when I start writing more. This is purely fictional, and I own none of the characters, settings, or anything related to Ranger's Apprentice. That honor is hailed to John Flanagan. If any brand names or copyrighted things are mentioned, then I own none of them. How could I? I'm a kid. Anyway, turn off all cell phones and pagers, please take your seat, and enjoy the show.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. I'm talking about before I met anyone or anything, just the first few seconds in that world. I know, I know, it's a typical opening to many stories. But, now, I realize why it is so.

My entrance into the world happened just as I had drifted to sleep on a Friday night, precisely why I believed myself to be dreaming. It's somewhat of a blur now, but I remember falling. I was peaceful during the fall, my half-conscious self not quite processing what was happening. It was somewhat soothing, the motion of the wind flying past my ears, my long blonde hair flying wildly from my scalp.

I was about to start giggling out of joy, when something whipped past my face. I frowned, now completely awake. It had stung. My hand quickly bolted to my cheek. I felt the same sensation on my face again, stinging much more this time. Looking quickly around, I saw that I was about to fall into a forest, the very top branches, hitting, me stinging like a mother.

I braced for the worst.

It all lasted about twenty seconds.

The pain came immediately, sharp branches, twigs and leaves sharply striking me everywhere on my body. My clothes ripped, I started to bleed in some places. It was very bad. And as the branches got bigger, the pain grew, too. The branches not only tore my clothes, but my flesh, too. The tree's branches tore at my skin, blood flying and skin tearing. I yelped and screamed out of pain, hot tears flying above my eyes as I fell.

Then _came_ the worst.

A particularly large branch tore through my side, shredding any clothes or skin that came in its way. I screamed for mercy, clutching my bloodied left side with my hands; only to have my right arm come to the same fate. I screamed louder and cried harder through the pain and the blood and the leaves.

I knew I was nearing the ground, and I said a silent prayer, asking for my death to come quickly, I still screamed, louder and louder than I had before. I was almost to the ground, waiting for my body to go _splat_, any second now, any se-

_Poof!_

I landed on something soft and airy, feeling almost like a cloud. I relaxed, feeling no pain in this cloud-or-whatever. I could be here forever, just lying down and enjo-

_Poof!_

The cloud disappeared under me, and I fell about five feet before hitting the ground. I had landed on grass, thankfully no rocks or tree stumps were underneath when I landed. In my mind, I prayed thanks for snot dying, very happy to be alive.

Until the pain returned, that is. My arm, head, and side especially throbbed pain, each bout sending bursts of agony throughout my body. I screamed and hollered in pain, barely conscious. A cold, dark black crowded the corner of my eyesight, the fuzzy darkness closing like a curtain on my vision, and I felt no more

.---

I was hazily aware of people standing around me, saying things. I had no idea what they were saying; to my ears it was just scattered sounds and words. I reached out for something, just to hold onto, and grasped what felt like a very small tree trunk, my hand only fitting halfway around it. It suddenly jumped out of my hand, along with a few startled shouts. Why would a tree jump? I wasn't quite sure. I just needed to escape this pain. Anything, anyone, help me.

"Help me…" I repeated my thought aloud, the sound a rasping cough, but the words were clear. The black curtain closed around my eyesight again, and I gladly accepted it this time, drifting away as a warm softness ensued.

So, it doesn't quite tell anything about the plot, but it sure is a start. If you like the story, then please R&R. I will try to update as much as possible, but I can't make any promises. I hope you like the story. Until next time, Ciao!


	2. The Find

Wow. I checked my emails the day after I submitted, and it was bombed with notifications about who reviewed, added me, or favorited my story. I'm writing this thirty seconds after I read them and joyful tears are welling in my eyes. I'm so glad that people enjoy my story! It makes me feel all bubbly inside. (Yes, I used the word "Bubbly".) I hope you continue reading; and, if not, then I hope you at least you will remember what you read.

So, anyway, try to write as much as I can, and that's usually once or twice a week. I'm sorry for updating so little, but please remember that I'm only in school for a few more weeks and the schedule might change. Hope you enjoy the next Chapter! Oh, and it will switch between 1st person with Emilie, my main character, and third person from the view of those in Araluen. It just gives me some more style to practice with, and lets me convey some of the feelings for other characters that I normally wouldn't be able to.

Sorry for boring you, back to the story.

...

Will Treaty's lips formed a slow smile as he read the thick letter that had come from Crowley, head of the Ranger Corps. It was his notification of approval about his last mission.

Just a few days back, Will had returned from a trip to Skandia. He had gone, alone, to make sure that the treaty Araluen had declared with Skandia was still as efficient as it seemed to be on the coasts. Even though a group was sent every ten years to make a thorough scan that applied to every detail of the document, Will had gone more as a messenger to receive details about the government's current state.

He had stayed a day longer than was scheduled, merely to catch up with some of his old Skandian friends. As he greeted his old pals, he was immediately swarmed with rib-crushing bear hugs, skull rattling noogies, and slaps on the back that puncture your spine.

_Wouldn't have it any other way_, Will reminisced as the smile broadened.

He leaned back in the cushioned chair he was reclining in and kicked his feet upon the small coffee table. A large, contented sigh escaped his lips as he let his head drop back and closed his eyes. After that last mission to Skandia, he and Halt had been given two days' release of most duties, unless Baron Arald or anyone else needed their special attention. The patrol of thieves and Redmont's protection was temporarily handed over to the Knights of Redmont. In light of his days off, he had called over Halt and Horace for a small get-together that day, as they rarely saw each other, when not on a mission.

He had cleaned his small cabin before, making sure to dust every corner and scrub every pot. He needed to pass Halt's close observation, to surpass the numerous common jibes, such as, "Hm. I guess the film of dust in the cauldron adds to the stew." and, "I believe flies are to be swatted, not bred." He was pleased with himself to finally, possibly have beaten Halt at his own game.

He smirked and sunk deeper into the chair, grateful that his guests would come in a few hours' time, giving him the luxury of a quiet, leisurely nap.

...

Will happily greeted his friends as they walked into his home, throwing their cloaks on a nearby rack. There were words of good health and greetings scattered about as soon as everyone had taken the first step into the cottage.

Before long, mugs of coffee were passed to each person and laughter and friendly conversation filled the room. Stories were told of recent journeys, their daily life, and events happening around each other's fief. Different villains and thieves had been caught by the handful, gossip about which Knight was courting which Lady, and the tale of an unhappy Pauline and a fearful Halt were common objects discussed. After a short silence, Will told of his trip to Skandia.

"Erak's fine," Will said, eyeing his empty coffee cup with misery. "Svengal is temporary captain on the Wolfwind, unless Erak begins to long for another one of his raids. Apparently, they were more than happy to see me, when I arrived." Will stood up and walked to the small kitchen and picked up the coffee pot, gratefully refilling his own mug. Steam curled deliciously off the dark, hot liquid. He set down the mug on the counter and reached for the jar of honey, which was in the cupboard by the window.

"I'm sure you still have the bruises, then," Horace remembered the pain of the none-too gentle bear hugs.

"Shut up, Horace," Will said sharply, setting down the honey pot.

"What?" Horace seemed offended. "I was just ma-"

"Horace, shut up!" Will hissed, listening with a hand cupped to his ear, by the window. The other two set down their mugs and joined will by the window.

At first, they heard only a rustling of a few tree branches, a noise that the wind could easily produce. Then, they heard a chilling, frightening sound; a young girl screaming for her life.

"Out the door! Quick!" Halt ordered, rushing outside and through the brush. The younger men followed closely in suit. As they ran faster, the screams became louder and more desperate, the screams of pain and fear.

Suddenly, the noise stopped. The men halted in their tracks, not daring to breath in fear of missing a noise. After a few seconds, Horace's lips parted to form words, until he was stopped by another scream. This one was a shrill screech, out of sheer and absolute pain then fear. The men started running towards the source.

The screams and yelps lasted for a few seconds, before falling silent. The men didn't stop this time, but slowed their pace until they followed a slow, tentative walk. They silently made their way into a small clearing, finding the mutilated body of a girl.

Her side, arm and head were caked in blood and skin, the dark red liquid pooling around her body. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly ajar. The three friends circled around her, just staring at their find.

"Will?" Horace asked, much like a frightened child would look for reassurance from his mother. "Is she..." A tear welled in each eye.

"I'll check f-for a pulse," Will answered slowly, not taking his eyes off the child. "B-But whoever did this...We will find them, a-" He was cut short as the girl's hand shot out and grasped his ankle, her nails digging sharply into his skin.

Everyone but Halt and the girl let out a small noise of surprise.

The girl rasped something, sounding a bit like, "Help me." She coughed a dry cough that spattered more blood on the ground, and went limp, her grip on Will's ankle releasing.

Halt made no hesitation to scoop the girl off the ground, blood dripping to the forest floor and seeping into his tunic. He turned to Will.

"She'll stay at your cabin until she's well, and so will we." Halt said, a blatant command and not a question. "You have your medical kit, correct?"

Will gulped and nodded.

"Good," Halt continued. "We'll have the healer look at her tomorrow." He began to Walk back along the trail that led to Will's dwelling. "I suppose we should make our way back."

Will followed Halt, and so did Horace; until something big and unusual caught his eye. He turned back, to find a large present right where the girl had just been laying. He cautiously walked over to the object, and slowly picked it up. He then began to walk back to the cabin with Will and Halt.

The present was wrapped in lemon-yellow colored--_something._ It felt to be more like fine silk than it did like paper. It had a thick red ribbon tied around the box, which ended at the top in a large bow. And, neatly tied to the bow with black thread, was a white tag. Written in elegant, fine script were the words "To: Emily."

...

This one was fun to write for me, though I cannot quite say why. Again, thank you for all the reviews and favorites, they mean _so_ much to me. I hope you like this chapter as much as the last, because it's about three times as long. (Roughly.) Please review and rate, it's always fun to read those.

---Later, my lovelies.---


	3. The Awakening

Hey! Nice to be writing again, I really love it! I have 1 or two weeks left of school before I'm free for a good while, so hang in there!

And, for those of you who asked my gender in the reviews, I am a girl, and proud of it. I don't want to bore you with anything before I start the story, so off we go!

....

When I woke up, I didn't open my eyes at first. I was too groggy to do so, and I liked the feeling of just lying in bed. Though...This wasn't my bed. My bed was a spring mattress. This felt like a couple sheets pulled over hay. As I think back, I'm sure it was. But it was a nice change from the hard, cold forest floor I had been lying on in my dream.

I was about to open my eyes and stretch when I heard voices coming from a short distance away, just outside of my room. Normally, I would've shouted at my sibling to shut up, that people are still trying to sleep. But these definitely were _not_ my siblings.

They sounded like a couple young men, having a conversation. My older brother's friends? No. The footsteps were too heavy and one of the voices was too deep. Besides, what would my brother's friends be doing outside my room, early in the morning? I heard a loud _clang! _and listened closely, to at least understand what they were talking about.

"...Horace, _please_ try not to break all of my dishes. I use those, you know." The first, higher-pitched voice said.

"...Come on, Will. These plates are too small. I drop them easily." Replied the second, heartier voice.

The argument went on for a few more minutes, until each man fell silent. It made me wonder if I was dreaming, which made me wonder about the dream I had before; the one where I fell through the trees. I put my hand on side, where the tree branches had hit me in my dream...

...Only to feel thick bandages wrapped around around my side. My eyes widened in shock and horror and I bolted upright. The sudden movement sent sharp bolts of pain to my side, arm, and especially my head. My eyes rolled back a little bit, and I passed out.

...

The next I remember, I woke up in the dead of night. The full moon shone through the lone window, painting the far wall in a luminous golden color. I thought about what had happened in the precious few minutes I had been consious through this whole ordeal.

I remembered falling, and the lashing, ripping pain that came with it. My hand slowly carressed the bandages on my arm, then slid down to feel the bandages on my side. I relished the fact that it was numb, that someone had put a salve or given me a shot or something.

Then, I woke up later and heard the voices of the men. Probably nurses or doctors, at the hospital I was staying at. It then occurred to me that I was most likely in a hospital, being treated and cared for. I gently smiled at the thought, knowing I was in good hands.

But...How had I fallen from the sky in the first place? Did I go skydiving? And why does my hospital room look so..._Log Cabin-y_? I noticed that as I looked at the space of the room I was currently facing.

I thought harder. What did those two men say their names were? Will...and Haroce? No...Will and Horace! Yeah, that was it. And, I was in a log cabin, somewhere possibly near the forest. Briefly I wondered where the ends met. Then, as I thought that two other men I had known somewhere were named Will and Horace, the thought came to me.

I was dead.

I was dreaming.

I was schyzophrenic.

Or...The impossible, crazy possibility that I was in Araluen.

I quickly sat upright, the motion thankfully not putting me out, but just making me slightly woozy.

This...This couldn't be it. Not ever. But...It made so little sense, it...It just tied everything thing together. All except the falling-from-the-sky part. I started to breathe heavily."

"I would probably be a bit frightened too, if I were you." A voice came from beside my bed, the side I hadn't been looking. I nearly screamed out of fright.

I looked to the right, eyes wide with fear. There, in a wooden chair, sat a man. He was in his late forties, I'd say, but he looked as healthy as an eighteen-year-old boy. He had black-and-grey hair, the same color as hist stubbly beard. He had creases around his forehead and mouth, but that did nothing to hide his sure, steady eyes. One look into them, and you could tell that he could best you in any situation, at any time, in any place.

"Wh-What?" I whispered back.

"I'm sure you don't know where you are. But we would do nothing to harm you, I give a Ranger's word on that." He stopped himself before he could speak again, and looked straight at my face. "You probably wouldn't know what that meant; From the looks of you, you're not from around here. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. I'm only at your bedside just to see that nothing else happens to you. You should probably get back to sleep; Next time you wake, the others who are taking care of you and I will need to question you."

I sunk deeper into my bed, knowing that I could trust the man next to me. I was sure he was the Ranger Halt. I pulled the sheet over my shoulders and closed my eyes.

"Have a good night, child," Halt said in a half-whisper.

"You too, Halt," I murmured, already drifting into the quiet arms of sleep. I thought he had said something else, but maybe I had only imagined it.

...

So, that's it. A bit short, only 1000 words. Maybe the next will be longer.

~Until next time!~


	4. The New Resident

Just to clear things up for some reviewers:

The story probably takes place right after book nine. If you haven't read that far yet, then how about after Will gets home from Macindaw? I order the books from Australia, so I don't have to wait a year to read the next. (Note: Will is now a full-fledged Ranger, and Halt is now married to Pauline. Halt, Horace, and Will are part of the Special Tact's group.)

Halt enters the tale when Will has a get-together; Will invites Horace and Halt, remember?

Sorry for any spoilers, on behalf of those who haven't read as far as I have.

I'm also sorry if you all don't like the story as it goes on. I'm really excited to make this, so I need to remind myself to take my time when I write. It's better to have a great chapter every week, than four so-so chapters every week. (In my perspective.)

Thank you for listening, and enjoy the chapter.

(Random fact of the Day: I'm writing some of this while eating peanut butter & jelly.)

"The girl's condition is stable," The healer said as he packed his herbs, balms, bandages and instruments back into his satchel. "The warmweed drug I gave her should knock her out for a bit. It'll help her feel less pain than she would regularly. Just make sure to replace her bandages every few days, 'else they'll build up some nasty viruses." He grabbed his cloak and hung it over his shoulder.

"How long will she be out?" Will asked tentatively, motioning to the bed where the girl slept, more or less peacefully.

The old healer shrugged. "You can never quite tell. Judging by the large dose I gave her, and the size of her wounds, probably four days, if not five." He opened the wooden door, wincing slightly as a reaction to the wild creak of the hinges. "If her condition worsens, you know where I am." He stepped out the door and shut it softly behind him.

Halt, Will, and Horace stood by the door, shifting their feet in the uncomfortable silence which followed.

"Um…What now?" Horace asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the still silence of the room.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Now?" He asked, and Horace nodded. "Now, we wait for her to wake up or show some sign that she is close to healing. Now we all stay here and wait."

They were all crowded in Will's small room; the present Horace had found lay, unopened, to the left of his bed.

It was only the night before that they had found the girl, screaming for help, and then lying still and silent in the clearing. Her long blonde hair--washed now--had earlier been stained with blood and dirt. Her face had been scratched and torn by an unknown source, the same with the rest of her body. Her side and arm had been completely mauled, the muscles torn and bone fractured. She was lucky to be alive, the healer had said.

Now she lay in Will's bed, her pale face the only part of her body not under blankets. She was motionless, as she did not move or toss while she slept; the light, fragile intake of breath was even barely noticeable. Her now-blue lips seemed to blend right in to her expressionless, pallid face.

Halt made a face. "Well," He said, in retrospect. "I meant, _you_ stay here, Horace." Horace looked in surprise at his Will's former mentor.

"What?" He asked, sure that he hadn't heard him correctly.

Halt simply nodded, and closed his eyes in decision. "Yes. You have to stay here, Horace, and look after her."

"Why?" Horace seemed uncertain.

" Will and I need to go to the town. We need to question the people, see if they remember an unknown girl in these parts, or if someone has lost their daughter. We also need more supplies, if we are to follow the healer's instructions." He looked to Horace once again. "You seem unsure."

"Nng...I'm okay with looking after her, It's just...I'm not sure what I'd do if something happened.

Halt sighed. "Horace, you're a big boy. I'm sure you can handle it. Come now, Will." Halt walked out of the room, slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, and stepped out the door.

Once outside, Will turned to Halt. "You wouldn't let me get a word in there, Halt. Why don't you and Horace go, and I'll look after the girl?"

Halt looked his former apprentice in his eyes. "Horace's life has become too cushy at the castle. He needs to take some responsibility to snap him back to reality, even if it is in charge of a dying child's life." Halt was about to start walking towards the town again, when something stopped him.

"Besides," Halt added. "He's become a damn nuiscense, drinking through our coffee supplies faster than a starving man would."

Horace sat in a wooden chair next to the sleeping girl, twiddling his thumbs. He wasn't sure if she could feel the awkward moment that he was. He guessed not, and he wondered why he _himself_ felt awkward.

"The healer says you might be out for a while," Horace said aloud, not caring whether the girl registered his thoughts or not. "He said, in your state, that some heal better if people they know talk or read to them." He shifted his glance from the floor to the girl. "You probably don't know me, so I guess I'm the best you've got." He gave a quiet, shallow laugh.

Horace gulped. "I'm not sure what to call you, though." Horace had read the tag on the present, and thought that it could've been her name. "Though the box you had said Emilie," he hesitated. "That's what I'll call you then; Emilie."

"It's a lovely name," he added, more out of politeness than anything else. For a minute, he was silent.

"I was scared, when I first saw you." He finally said, not able to meet the girl's eyes. Then he reminded himself, _She's sleeping. "_You were just sprawled on the ground, and you had been screaming and you were bloody, and--" he didn't know what else to say. "And when your raspy voice was awful. It's probably not always like that, though." He said quickly, not wanting to offend the unconscious child.

"This is odd, having a conversation with...well, with an unknown, sleeping girl who is in my mate's cabin that we found, nearly dead, in the woods at night." He stopped himself. "That felt strangely lightening to get off my chest." He chuckled, then glanced at the Emilie, and remembered that she couldn't share the humor.

"Emilie..." he started, trailing off uncertainly."I'm glad that you're not dead." He smiled a bit, his gaze meeting and staying at the girl's face. "I believe I would've cried, had you died yesterday. I don't think I'd be able to fully see that a girl you're age had died, basically right in front of me."

He smiled a gentle, happy smile. "I'm glad you're still here." He sat in silence after that, thinking that just _maybe_ the girl had heard him.

Halt and Will were slumped in a couple of Will's soft chairs, untouched mugs of coffee on a table beside them.

"The villagers said they hadn't seen anything strange lately, especially a girl. Or someone who tends to maul girls and leave them in the forest." Halt's hand rubbed his temple.

"None of them accused you of witchcraft?" Horace said with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

Will took his mug off the table. "No," he said, his lips at the rim of the white mug. "They know us too well here." He said, after a long, grateful sip of coffee.

"I'm just not sure what to do with her, even if she were to wake up." Halt glanced meaningfully in the direction of Will's bedroom. "Hopefully, she'll tell us where she's from and how we can get her there. But if she's a runaway, or cannot remember anything, I think she will have to be...sent to the Ward." He looked up at his younger friend, who gave him surprised looks.

"It's the most sensible solution I can think of," Halt nodded. "Right now, though, we're out of options. She's an unknown girl that is teetering over the edge of death. We can't take this matter to anyone else--they would handle it the same. And I don't think any of us would like to adopt a teenage girl at the moment. The two best options are to let her off on her own, which I doubt would end for the best, or send her to the Ward building."

Horace and Will nodded slowly, though they hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. They remembered the sixteen years of torment brought upon by other children in Redmont, taunting and laughing at them for orphan existence.

Halt looked out the window, and judged the time until daylight, about by how long the sun had been down. Halt stood up, and addressed Will and Horace. "Someone will have to watch her for tonight, if anything goes wrong or if she needs attention." he said. He picked up his coffee mug and drank the contents in one large gulp.

"I'll watch her." Horace stood up and walked into Will's small room.

Horace had been in the seat next to the bed where the unknown girl slept for a little over four hours. His boredom had gradually increased over the past few hours, to the point where Halt had awoken, rose from his old bedroom in the cabin, and had told Horace to stop humming and whistling idle tunes.

So Horace took the liberty of stealing Will's knife while he slept and whittled away at a chunk of wood, hoping to carve something recognizable in the oaken hunk.

Horace looked at the position of the moon, and smiled gratefully. _Time to go,_ he thought as he stood up.

He gently opened the door and walked out into the small living space. Will, who was sleeping on the cushy bench, was shaken by Horace.

"Time to switch shifts," Horace said with a yawn. Will promptly stood up, and rubbed one eye. Horace handed him his knife, and Will felt around his scabbard, which he found empty.

"Why'd you take it?" Will asked, accepting the knife and inserting it its place on the belt. Horace tossed him a small wooden object as he sat where Will had just lain.

Will eyed the clunky piece of wood he'd been given. "Nice birdhouse," he commented, tossing it up and catching it repeatedly.

"It's a horse," Horace remarked flatly. Will tossed the creation into the dying fire.

"Now it's firewood." Will began to walk toward his room. "Should I replace the cloth on the girl's forehead?"

Horace nodded. Will retrieved the cloth from its place on her head and began to dampen it in the barrel of water. Horace lifted his head from where he was lying and said, "Emilie's cloth, you mean."

Will stopped in the doorway. "Who?"

"Emilie. That's what the package near her says," Horace closed his eyes and rested his head on a pillow. Will nodded slowly, entered his room, and took his place next to Emilie.

For the next four days, the decided name for the unknown girl was Emilie.

Halt had moved back to Castle Redmont with Pauline, as he said he would rather stay with his wife, if Will's cabin was so close by.

So, Horace and Will took responsibility of caring for Emilie. They got her to eat a little food here and take a sip of water there, but not enough nutrition to support her for very long.

As they watched over her during the night, Horace's carving skills began to improve as well. Most of his creations, which by now were fairly recognizable, were thrown into the fire.

The girl's complexion began to return as did her health, and she began to eat more and more as time went on. Instead of the pale, drained skin and shallow, weak breaths, she was now had healthy, peach-colored skin and took deep, content breaths.

One night, Halt came back to check on Emilie, and decided to let Will and Horace rest for the night, while he watched her.

He was dozing in the oaken chair when, suddenly, she moved. Halt opened his eyes suddenly, immediately alert. It wasn't anything big; she had just turned to her left side. But it had been more than she had moved anytime before. After a minute, she seemed to relax in her sleep, then unexpectedly shoot forward in her bed, panting heavily and looking around.

Halt inwardly sighed. She would have to wake up sooner or later, he reasoned.

"I'd be a bit frightened too, if I were you." Halt said, straightening in his chair. The girl whirled around, obviously frightened, clutching her blanket fiercely.

"I'm sure you don't know where you are. But we would do nothing to harm you; I give a Ranger's word on that." Halt said, looking straight into the girl's brown eyes."You probably wouldn't know what that meant; From the looks of you, you're not from around here. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. I'm only at your bedside just to see that nothing else happens to you." Halt folded his arms over his chest. "You should probably get back to sleep; Next time you wake, the others who are taking care of you and I will need to question you."

The girl seemed reluctant to do as she was told, but she slowly lied back down, her eyelids already drooping close.

"Have a good night, child." Halt said in a gruff whisper, trying to be gentle with her as he spoke.

Surprisingly, she spoke back. "You too, Halt." Her voice grew fainter as she spoke, just on the boundaries of sleep.

Halt nodded and sunk comfortably in his wooden chair, then straightened abruptly. "How would you know my name?" He asked urgently, but it was already too late; the girl was now too far gone.

OH MY MUFFINS I apologize for what I have done to you all! It's been three weeks, I think! I didn't mean to keep whoever actually reads this regularly waiting; I wanted to type as fast as I could! But, I had little opportunities to do so. So, here you are, all wordy and pretty and like. This one could be my favorite so far, just because I put lots of time and effort into this one. Oh, and hey--The next one, or the one after that, might take me a while to get done. It's not that I have anything going on then, It's just that I have to plan something to make the story tie together, that may take a lot of thinking and planning. I hope you guys understand. So, please Read and Rate and Review and whatever other R's, because they make me oh-so very happy!

Bye, bye for now!


	5. The Corruption

Nothing much to say today. I Hope you like this chapter. It's okay if you get lost, the next couple should tie everything in. Don't be mad with me if it's a little later till I get the next two chapters posted up.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

Jonathan Lark pulled the last strip of green out of his dying field or crops. The work had been so hard this season, it seemed. Locusts swarmed and raved, the sun baked down on him and his plants with no remorse; his only means of income eaten and shriveled before his own weary eyes. He took with greed whatever money was to be paid for his measly work.

Jonathan remembered how cruel the year had been to him. His son was murdered by a band of thieves, trying to protect the farm he and his family lived on. His wife, stricken with grief, had succumbed to a harsh fever and died, hardly giving up a fight.

And now his crops were failing him, his animals weren't as fertile or as plentiful as the year before, and he had to sell his wife's precious jewelry to make enough money to feed himself.

His eyes, which used to be so bright and alive, were now dull and tired. His face, which had always been so handsome and determined, was now creased and burned from the stress and sun.

Jonathan tossed the plant aside and fell to the ground, his hands over his eyes in grief. Nothing, it seemed, would ever relieve his bone-weary pain or his pathetic lifestyle. He sighed, knowing that the day had only just begun, and that more would come until the day he, too, would pass.

How easy it would be just to give up and lie in the middle of his field, until he had wasted away in the dry sun, as most of his plants had.

Thud.

His eyes slowly opened, looking to his right, where he had heard a low noise, the noise of something dropped on the ground.

Jonathan stood and walked, curious, to where he had heard the noise.

He felt it before he had seen it.

It was an odd sensation, a deep thrum of power that pulsated throughout his entire being. It hummed and awoke every nerve and feeling in his body, creating an alert mind, pent-up energy just racing through his veins.

When he was upon the strange object, he saw that it was a necklace; one with a large, dark, red-violet stone hanging on the black chain. It was so...darkly alluring. It was beautiful, yes; but in a deep, mischievous, wicked way. It was telling, almost commanding him to do things, it seemed. Just looking at the lurid stone made him angry, remorseful. It made his think of all the evil, all the things that had happened to him. No, he did not care about the world anymore. Only himself.

The enticingly dark object called to him. _Jonathan_, it seemed to whisper manipulatively._ Put on the necklace. I will take care of you now, you don't have to worry. Put on this necklace, and all who had done you wrong will cower at your feet, begging for mercy down in the mud where they belong. A new life for this world is approaching, with you leading the way. Slip the amulet around your tired old neck, and feel reborn._

Jonathan was more than eager to grasp the viciously enticing object, to feel the weight of the evilly seductive stone fall around his shoulders.

Which is exactly what he intended to do.

He clutched the black chain, as cold and dark as a black, icy lake. Once he felt the powerful amulet touch his neck, a whole wave of sinister emotions and thoughts pulsated throughout his body; throughout his soul and being. His eyes, once a fair hazel, were now a bleak, inky blue. A brief, fleeting thought from the real Jonathan Lark escaped his head: the thought that he had done something terribly, horrendously wrong.

He tried to fight the compelling thoughts, tried to push the demonic spirit away.

But it was already too late. Whatever had been left of his soul and free spirit, had been squelched and engulfed by the amulet's dark spirit.

A hand rose to Jonathan's face, feeling where the wrinkles and burns had been; now replaced by young, pale skin. He saw the large veins and calluses on his hands smooth out into smooth yet firm skin.

The being cackled gently, his hand forming a fist; a sign of victory.

He had been reborn once again.

From somewhere in the clouds, a being watched those very events. He turned his head in anger, shame, and regret; he could not force himself to watch anymore. He couldn't believe that his actions-that his _accident-_had caused a man to lose his soul. He sighed at the prospect of it.

_What would _she_ have thought? _

He reeled slightly at the mere thought of it.

The being turned the other direction, the direction where she-or, the successor of she- slept soundly. A young man sat at her bedside, whittling away at a hunk of wood, talking idly to a friend in the other room. The small cabin could hardly hold four people, he noticed, and one of them had moved out, most likely to his own home.

Again, the individual's eyes cast a lingering gaze upon the child.

The girl reminded his so much of _her._ It hurt to look at the girl for too long.

He moved in closer to the girl, so close until he was standing at her bedside. He looked aside to the young man beside him, still talking and working on the sculpture. He wouldn't see the figure by her bed. No one would, even if they stared directly at him.

He put his hand on the girl's forehead, and apologized for all he had done, past, present, and future. He cast calming dreams upon the child, and said a farewell.

He left to his spot in the heavens once again.

Horace turned to the girl, thinking she had said something. He only saw the small smile on her face, most likely dreaming of something pleasant. The tall warrior shrugged, thinking it had only been his imagination.

Not quite wordy, but it works. Please review this story, because my heart just swells when people leave long, awesome comments.

I Love you bunches!

-The Tempest


	6. The Gift

As always, I can't say much right now. I just don't feel like boring you so much that you don't feel like reading. Most of your questions will be answered in the next chapter, because this one was just a link to the next, which I am currently working on. Please be patient with me, and realize that I simply can't update every day. But remember that I love you and that I am giving up valuable summer time to write for all of you out there. Please enjoy my new chapter!

Sunlight poured through the small window and onto my eyes, awaking me slowly. I kept my eyes closed-It was a Saturday morning, after all, and I had wanted to just lie there and know that I didn't have to go to school.

But something in my mind told me that it was not Saturday, nor would I be going to school for a long time. I wondered why this was so; why would m-

Oh.

_Oooooooh._

Oh jeez.

I remembered where I was, and my eyelids slowly cracked open in fear. All I saw was the walls of an unknown bedroom, in a cabin, made of logs. My mattress was stuffed with hay. I wasn't in my regular queen-sized bed, but rather a bed for one, a heavy quilted blanket draped over me.

I sat up straight, and something fell to my lap. It was a rolled-up damp cloth, that had most likely been put on my forehead. I fingered for a moment the tattered edges of the silky fabric.

Whoever was playing this prank _really_ wanted me to think I was going crazy.

I mean, just who would try to make me think I was in Araluen? Why would someone do that, even faking bandages around imaginary wounds? As I thought this, I harshly poked the spot where the bandages were on my hip. Expecting a dull poke in the side, I was surprised with a piercing shock of pain which pulsated throughout the area around the damaged flesh.

_Okay_, I thought. _The bandages were obviously there for a reason._

But…That still left the bigger question. Was I in Araluen? I couldn't be. Though, everything seemed so real, and the people called each other Horace and Will, even when they thought I was asleep. My brow furrowed furiously. I shrugged glumly, and decided to just go with it.

The cabin I was in was silent; the only sound heard was the peaceful hush of the wind as it hit a side of the small log structure. I closed my eyes, trying to take in what might have happened. I wondered where I had gotten the wounds, and carefully retraced my steps as far as I could.

I significantly remembered landing and the painful spasms that ensued…Falling, of course, through the trees, especially the ones that tore through flesh and bone. I could recall falling, first, through the sky, thinking that I was merely dreaming and peacefully flying. Then…

Then nothing.

The only thing I remembered after that was falling asleep in my own bed, on a lazy Friday night. I put my hand to my head and sighed irritably, annoyed at my lack of memory. How could I _not_ remember how I was dropped into the sky?

I heard a creaky door scream open, and the heavy footsteps that ensued. I looked up, and a young man with a boyish face was walking past my open door, a seemingly heavy bucket of water carried easily in one hand. He glanced casually through the door, then did a double take as he saw me sitting up and alert.

"Oh, you're awake." He said pleasantly, setting down the bucket near my door, not even taking a second glance as water sloshed out the top. He started near my bedside, and sat down in the chair that was beside it.

"How do you feel today?" The twenty-something man said gently. I just stared at him, my dry mouth keeping any words stopped up in my throat. I noticed my mouth was open, and closed it shut before I would decidedly seem dumb. I hoped this wasn't who I thought it was.

He seemed to feel how uncomfortable I was, and a friendly smile grew wide on his face. The smile relaxed me somehow.

"Don't worry," He assured me. "I'm not here to harm you, or anything of the like. I just want to see if you are healing as well as you should, or how to get you home soon. Your parents probably are wondering where you are."

"I'm feeling fine today, thanks." I returned the smile weakly. He nodded happily, and left the room. A couple minutes later, he came in with a mug of hot tea. I noticed sadly the large saxe knife he held on his belt, and the longbow which sat by the door. _Oh, no._

He handed me the mug, which I accepted gratefully. I had just now noticed my rumbling stomach, which growled and barked for nourishment.

I drank the whole mug of tea in one large gulp.

He chuckled and took the mug back; setting it on the floor by the stool he was sitting on. "I'll bet your hungry," He said lightheartedly. "My name is Will Treaty, by the way. A couple other people and I have been taking care of you, while you healed the past few days."

Past few _days_?

"Um…Will Treaty, th-the Ranger?" I asked tentatively, hoping the answer which I knew would come _wouldn't._

But, to my dismay, he nodded cheerfully. "Ranger fifty. The others are outside for the moment, but they should be back any minute now." A frown interrupted the light smile, and he asked me seriously, "But, more importantly, what is your name?"

I faked a smile. "Emilie." I didn't want to give away my last name, because I still didn't feel completely safe about all this,

But Will continued to smile. "Good, then. That's what I was hoping." I frowned at his remark, looking at him thoughtfully as he crossed the room, and picked up something. He handed me a beautifully wrapped present, a tag with my name hanging from the bow.

"This must be for you, then." He nodded as I gestured to untie the bow, giving him an unsure look.

"Go on, then." He replied politely. "We found it near you."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but I began to open it anyway. As I was daintily untying the velvety bow, two other men walked into the room. I didn't look up as I continued to open the beautiful box.

I heard a young man gasp. "She's awake!" This was followed by that of an older man, "It's about time." At that moment, I had the box fully opened. I stared inside at what object had awaited me.

I heard Will say something in my direction, but I didn't answer. I just kept staring. His voice turned into worry and confusion, and he looked into the box.

It was an orb of light.

An orb of glowing, warm, buttery light which painted the inside of the box and lit anything around it. It's light hit my face, and seemed to warm my somewhat pale complexion.

Will stared, too.

Soon did the other two men.

I heard the older of the three clear his throat, but the ball of light started to shake. It started to rumble and pulsate and move, as if it couldn't contain something that was inside of it.

Apparently, it couldn't.

Immediately the orb combusted, and the explosion of light grew until it was bigger than the room that surrounded us. The light covered everything in sight until we were standing in a vast space of white and glowing yellow, blinding us to the point where we had to shield our eyes best as we could.

After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and saw that I was no longer in a room or in a bed, but floating in a light-filled place, warm yellows and glittery whites all that I could see. When I turned, the other three men were there, too, looking just as confused as I seemed to be.

A rich, kind voice came from somewhere out of the vast, white abyss.

"Hello, Emilie. You don't know how long I have waited to see you in person."

Oh-ho! Cliffhangers for the win! Short chapters for the...lose. What's gonna happen, that's for you to find out. Hugs and kisses!

-The Tempest


	7. The Regret

That one sentence rang throughout my body, and utterly freaked me out.

I looked beside, once again, to the three men who were, too, floating awkwardly in the void.

They were the three men whom I deduced were Will, Halt, and Horace. If this was so, then even Halt looked perplexed about his surroundings.

Halt glared at me, question in his eyes. All I could do to answer was shrug and cough uncomfortably.

That same, ominous voice seemed to chuckle, "I'm sorry to have to converse with you in such a strange way. It was the only way I knew that would be safe." He then seemed to realize that we were just talking to a voice in the distance. "Please excuse my rudeness, sirs and madam; I forgot that mortals usually couldn't see me." As he spoke the last words, they became more and more from a definite place, just ahead of where we were.

A figure stepped out of what looked like a white fog, and began to walk toward us. Upon closer inspection, he was a man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties. He had long, dark hair, and an olive complexion. His smile was friendly and his eyes were cheerful, but the sharp green irises seemed to pierce through you when he looked directly at you. His clothes were old; very, very old. It was close to what the other men were wearing: A simple tunic, leggings, and a belt. Only, he wore pants instead of regular leggings.

He did a small hand motion, and suddenly we were all standing in the unknown white, not just floating in its presence.

He strode forward and addressed us all. "I can't help but notice you aren't familiar with your surroundings. I apologize, once again, for where I have brought you. But my message is of great importance, and I needed to tell it in safety and privacy."

"What matter could it be, then?" Halt raised an eyebrow, not at all intimidated by the man who stood in front of him. "What could be so important that it involved an injured girl?" He gestured to me, and I smiled awkwardly. "Also, just who are you, and how would you know us, well enough to have to speak with us in privacy?" Halt's arms were folded across his chest.

The man smirked. "Right to the point as always, Halt. Well, then; here it is: My name is Silas, and this girl plays an important role in the survival of you and your country." He said it as though it was the simplest idea in the world.

I let out a choking sound in surprise.

"Let me tell you in more…detail, I suppose." He waved his hand, and blackness ensued.

I'm not saying just the dark, like when it is night, the lights are off in your house, and it takes a couple minutes for your eyes to adjust to it.

No, this was the definition of the word _black. _I could not see a single thing, not even my own hands when I held them up in front of my face. It was so dark; I didn't even think my hands had moved. And, worst of all, the black stretched on and on forever, as the white light had. It made me feel vulnerable and alone, not even a sound in the void of black.

Suddenly, I saw Silas, just standing in a small aura of light. With a large sweep of his hand, the space around him was lit.

"My twin sister and I were born to be gaurdians."

The single sentence echoed and floated about the place in which we were in.

"We were raised as warriors and wisemen, magicians and leaders."

Suddenly, the dark void lit in the middle to show a picture. It reminded me more of a hologram than a picture, because the images seemed to have weight and depth.

The small area of light showed a boy and a girl, meditating in the lush green grass of a wild field, their clothes and hair flowing lightly with the soft hush of a breeze. Small smiles lit their faces as the warm sun cast a ray of light onto them.

The boy, whom I assumed was a younger version of Silas, looked very much the same then as he did now. He had dark hair, and the tan olive skin tone. Something was off about the resemblance, though. I strained to think of what it was, switching my gaze from the one in the moving hologram, to the flesh-and-bone one before me.

(Well, whatever he was made of.)

_Aha! The smile._

Yes, his smile was different. In the small aura of light that surrounded the children, he had a content, carefree smile; he looked as if nothing in the world could stop him or put him down. But now...Now, his smile was aged, almost weary. He looked as if he had been put through all the challenges life could throw at him and then some. His eyes, too, had the same tired look in them. The pierciong green was clouded somewhat by the look of difficulty and sorrow.

The girl, whom I assumed was Silas's sister, looked alot like him. She had the same dark hair, the same olive tone of skin, and looked to swift and agile. She was really pretty, in an exotic way.

But, when she opened her eyes, her irises glowed an enchanting yellow, not at all like her brother's sharp green.

"We were selected to guard a demon, a spirit of cold and darkness and evil, that had been existant since the beginning of time."

A black cloud shrouded the image of light, and replaced it with dark smoke. Images flashed throughout the smoke, but only for a split second before they disappeared. Men slaying men, groups of humans choking, a ruthless king beating a servant, a child crying for his mother.

Somehow, I knew that those images were the demon. Just the pure presence of evil and despair was his flesh and bone.

"My sister, Luella, was always the smarter one. She excelled in all of her teachings, was always advancing rapidly in swordplay and defense, and seemed to maintain a neutral emotional balance for concentration..."

The image changed to the children, who were now teenagers, being taught by different people, in different settings, which were usually outdoors. While the girl clashed her sword in rapid-fire blows, the boy seemed to be content learning at a slower pace, hitting his sword less swiftly and accurately against his instructor's.

"...I never cared much, in fact. I was happy that she would be the better gaurdian." Silas chuckled. "I was glad, because she was much smarter than I was, and I knew it."

His smile faded. "But, anyway...We were raised to guard the demon. His spirit was kept inside an enchanted chest, the one we were trained to guard with our lives. We were taught weaponry, and schooled and taught how to be loyal, courageous and strong; all for that one box.

"The original plan was, once we were strong enough, we were to open the box and vanquish the monster, once and for all. But things...took a turn for the worst."

A beautiful red-and-gold box rotated slowly in the light orb. it was encrusted with magnificent jewels and intricate works of detail in silver and gold. The box had a lock on it, one that looked large enough for a skeleta key.

"One day, I got arrogant. I thought my sister wasn't as smart as she seemed, and that we could take on the demon as we were..."

The images flashed to a door opening, the light from outside tracing a long rectangle on the otherwise black floor. The box lay not too far away, it's small aura of light the only thing noticeable in the room. A figure strode toward it, inserted a large key, and slowly creaked open the lid.

"My sister saw what I was doing, and she tried to stop me. She tried to tell me to close the lid before it was too late, before the demon was free, but the deed was already done."

A girl in a sort of armor- and quite a large jewel necklace- ran toward the man in the room, frantically shaking his arm and shouting things unheard by us. He roughly pushed her away from him, and shoved the lid fully open. Almost right as he did so, a black cloud surged from the box, filling the room with the black smoke.

"Almost as soon as it was released, I knew I could never defeat him in the state I was. He overpowerd me too quickly, much faster than I had anticipated."

The black smoke swirled around the man. he coughed, and fell to the floor. He clutched his stomach, and opened his mouth in an attempt to scream or breath or do who knows what.

"My sister saw the only option was to try to contain him again. THe box couldn't be used-he had smashed it when he came out. So, my sister used the only thing she had at hand; her necklace.

"An enchanted jewel hung from it; she had been given it as a gift from one of our instructors. He told her it had great power, and that she would use it in her time of need. Surprisingly, he was right."

The woman tore the necklace from where it hung over her chest and held it up. She began to speak, her mouth moving quickly and non-stop. The jewel on the necklace began to glow; it radiated white light and started to lift in the air on its own.

"But, in her haste and franticality, she slipped on the spell. She missed a few words, or ddidn't anunciate properly; she did something. Instead of trapping only the demon, she was thrust inside, too."

The woman smiled triumphantly as the black cloud of smoke began to flow toward the necklace and inside it, diminishing almost instantly. The clear crystal jewel was slowly filled with an inky, icy black. Just as the jewel was almost filled completely, the woman stumbled. She put her hand to her heart and coughed. almost instantly, she began to dissapear.

She was fading away.

She looked at her arms and hands, which were slowly getting lighter and lighter, to the point of transparancy. She looked about, and, seemingly finding what she was looking for, reached out a hand, and said one word unheard by us.

"Silas."

She dissapeared completely, the amulet clattering on the cold floor.

"Soon after her, the amulet left, too." I watched as the man in the orb of light ran toward the necklace as it slowly sunk into the ground.

"And that was the only moment I had every truly felt regret."

The orb of light slowly faded to dark.

I found my voice in the dark void saying, "How do I tie into all of this?" The hoarse whisper echoed in the vast space of nothing.

Silas turned to me. "We were to pick a human to carry on our duty in case something went wrong- we both died, we weren't strong enough, or we just didn't have any offspring to carry on our name. You were the one Luella had picked. You were the chosen one, the only human she thought capable of destroying him."

My voice seemed lost again. I struggled in the dark to find it. "Buh...That doesn't make sense. Why me? I'm... I'm only thirteen, and I have no experience in sword fighting, or... or magic. And the only reason I know who these people are is because I had to read the book for a class assignment. This isn't a world I'm in, It's a book!"

Silas looked into my eyes. "Did you ever think that there are worlds, dimensions, even universes other than yours?" I didn't say anything. "Have you ever wondered why dreams are so strange? It's because our subconsious minds are picking up... oh, for lack of a better word, transmissions from other worlds. Insights. The other of this book just so happened to tune into this one."

"Then, why..."

"Because this is where the amulet landed, child."

He let that sink in. I stared down at the invisible floor for a moment, trying to wrap my head around it all.

"You are the only one who can save the poeple of this world from the demon. If someone picks up the amulet, especially a weak-hearted soul, then he could easily inhabit their body and mind. I'm asking you to do this for the good civilians, the ones who did nothing wrong. You don't have to, Emilie. You can just say the words and I can poof you back to your room; right here, right now. All I am saying is that for those of this world to survive, they would need your help." He gestured to Halt, Will, and Horace. "Besides, you would also have some help along the way."

I furrowed my brow. "But why can't you do it?"

Silas sighed. "Because I don't trust myself anymore."

I let out a small gasp.

"Please, Emilie."

I thought of all the things I would miss in my life at home. My warm cozy bed. My best friends. My family. My parents. Warm meals. Just meals in particular. All my cheerleading practices. Shopping. Clean clothes...

But then, I wondered just what everyone would lose.

Their families. Loved ones. Food. A chance to survive. A free life.

Their lives.

I sighed inwardly, and made possibly the toughest decision I will ever have had faced.

"Silas, I accept."

...

Okay, okay, excuses time. I had two vacations, I'm out of the house like the whole day, I was never quite in the mood to write, and the words never really flowed off my fingertips as they had before. And I just had a hard time trying to write out this chapter, because of all the backstory and flashbacks and I've really just been working out the whole the whole major storyline.

But aren't you just glad that I updated for once?

AREN'T YOU.

Okay, loves and kisses to all my besties out there,

-The Tempest


	8. The Fear

Hey guess what more story okay.

...

I nearly sank to my knees on the imaginary ground as I answered Silas.

He seemed surprised by my answer, his reaction somewhat delayed. Soon, though, his eyes lit up in pure joy and happiness, and he seemed to have a hard time keeping a large grin from spreading over his face.

Silas coughed politely and addressed the three men. "Now, I hope you three are okay with escorting Emilie..." He talked in a business-like tone with the others.

But I didn't hear. I was too busy thinking if I had made the right or wrong decision. My heart pounded in my ears. I worked to keep my breathing normal. I had only one thought running through my head:

_Oh my God, what will I do._

"...Emilie?"

I looked up in surprise as I saw four faces staring worriedly at me.

As I stopped for a minute to get myself to together, I had realized that my breathing was fast and irregular. I believe I had been hyperventilating quite loud.

"Emile, I know this is going to hard for you," Silas spoke to me like a mother calming a frightened child. "But you need to be strong for me. For us. For a whole world."

I nodded dutifully. "Yeah, I... I know. But...How can I fight something that's so...I don't even have a weapon or...actual fighting skills." I tried to find a loophole out of my current situation.

Silas was quick to reassure me. "Don't worry, child. I had all this figured out beforehand. I have arranged a bag for you to take on your journey. In it is everything you may need: a map, a scrying stone-to see where he is at all times-a special change of clothing, different toiletries, and some stuff from your bedroom that would make you feel more at ease."

Ignoring the fact that taking stuff from my room is an obvious invasion of my privacy, I wasn't absolutely satisfied with that answer. "That still doesn't help my weapon problem."

Silas smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes. I was getting to that. You see, when my sister..._left_, she did not have her sword with her at the time. So, as a gift, you will be getting her lovely sword to use.

Okay, _now_ I was starting to get annoyed. "Yes, but I don't have any weapon skills or fighting experience, _as I have said before_."

Silas took my hint. "Oh yes; more of a minor detail than anything, really." He clasped his hands together. "I have enchanted my sister's sword so that, once you grasp the hilt, you will know what to do. I already have everything made out for you; provisions, means of transportation, even an alias for you. I had this all planned out before you came."

Okay. Magic swords? Sure. A fake title? Why not. A whole journey across a land I read about in a fictiuos novel for school? Might as well, as long as we're at it.

But trust me; I was not as calm now as I was there.

I said nothing as I tried to fight the tight feeling of closing in my throat, the feeling I get when I'm about to cry.

Finally, Halt spoke up. "How do we know if we can trust you or not? If this isn't some elaborate plan to distract us while you off and do something conniving?" He did his signature eyebrow raise and smoldering stare.

Silas seemed to take it in well. "If I wanted you gone, then I could have easily plucked you from this world and into another, like I had Emily. Sorry about that rough fall, by the way." He looked sympathetically at my bandaged wounds. "I tried to cushion your landing a bit."

I remembered the soft cloud that had appeared under me as I fell to what seemed like an uncertain death.

I also remembered that my body was shredded, which I had forgotten until that point. Thankfully the rips in my flesh didn't hurt at all in this void.

Silas looked at us all once more, and took a step back. "Gentlemen, and beautiful young lady, I believe we shouldn't prolong this visit any further. It was nice finally meeting you all, and I'm glad that you have accepted this task.

"I know that this was all sort of sudden, but I ask of you to be brave and courageous and strong, like I know all of you are." He stopped and waved goodbye, as his form began to dissolve into the white. "I look forward to seeing you all soon." His form completely dissolved, and I realized that I was starting to melt away into the white as well.

...

With a thump and a feeling in the pit of my stomach, we were all back in Will's tiny cabin.

I looked around at the others, who were holding a hand to their heads and muttering some incoherent words.

When they stopped, it was as if they first realized I was even there.

It probably would've been better if they hadn't.

The awkward feeling hung in the air like a bad odor. Everyone felt it, though no one said anything.

Finally, when I couldn't fight the tears any longer, I bolted out of the room and headed for the front door, leaping out of the small wooden house as soon as the door opened.

"Emilie!" Horace called as I slammed the door shut.

I didn't stop running, though. I flew into the trees and rocks that surrounded the small log structure, and I continued to run. I leapt over the decaying logs and pushed off against the fungus-ridden trunks and didn't stop. Tree branches, long leaves, and bugs whipped against my face as I let the tears run free down my face. I panted and shook with fear and sadness as I continued to run into the forest.

Finally, when the wound on my side burned with fury and I was overcome by the tears, I collapsed to the dirt ground. I wept and sobbed and made no attempt to wipe the tears that streamed into the grass and dirt. I gasped and shuddered and wailed as I lie helpless on the ground.

Up until then, I hadn't known the feeling of true, unbridled fear.

I was so scared about myself. About my family. About this world. About everything that I had said and done in the past few days. It could've been longer than that. I still had no idea how long I was asleep in the cabin.

Oh my god, I was terrified and alone.

I tried as hard as I could for a moment, to try and hold myself together. But all that came was a horror-movie scream erupting from my lips. I broke into sobs again, curling up in a ball and gently rocking myself.

I don't know how long I was there, just rocking back and forth on my side as I tried to calm my breathing. After a while, the tears stopped coming, and my breaths just came raggedly as I wondered what would happen next. Should I go back to the cabin? Or just stay here til I rot. The latter would be safer and easier. I would survive for a few days without food, maybe just look for a stream and drink that until I waste away.

What am I saying? I could never willingly do that to myself. Anyway, Silas might revive me if he sees me that close to death.

And so, I continued to lie there. Long after the warm, comforting afternoon sun faded into the distance. The beautiful twilight approached, and still I lie, vulnerable and in one of my weakest possible state of mind.

As I thought about what would happen if I told Silas I refused, I heard a soft noise somewhere behind me.

Clep, clof. Clep, clof. Clep, clof.

I turned suddenly, and a small horse stood a few inches from my face. This was quite a small horse.

"...Tug?" I said in a half-whisper, my voice hoarse from crying.

Apparently, the horse understood, and tossed its mane happily.

I cautiously extended my palm toward his nose, and lightly stroked the soft, wet fuzz. He closed his eyes happily and strode closer toward me, butting his head against mine. I ran my hand against his coarse mane, and Tug sat down beside me.

I decided to lie against the seemingly tame horse, and continued to stroke his warm coat.

"How did you find me, boy?" I looked the horse in his eyes. Can a horse smirk? I guess not, but it seemed like he had. I shrugged and decided that he had merely followed a stranger's scent, like he was trained to do.

I silently wondered why he was being so friendly to me.

I sighed. "I need a friend right now, anyway." Tug seemed to understand and nuzzled his head against mine. I smiled and breathed deeply.

The stars were out now. My smile faded as I gazed into the brilliant little lights. The stars were so much prettier back then. In my world, I never even stopped to look at the dazzling things. Now that I did, it made me wish I hadn't missed a single night.

I thought about what was to become of me. I wondered what this strange world had in store for me. I imagined the lands we would travel, the sights we would see. With a sword that would protect me, and three grown men, I wouldn't have anything to worry about. I sighed and closed my eyes again.

I still didn't want to be here. I'd rather be at home, in my warm bed. With my family that I might not see again.

But...I would just have to relax. Deal with whatever challenges come my way. I was chosen for a reason, I suppose.

My eyes continued to stay closed. Sometime along, I began to breathe deeply and regularly. I began to sleep under the stars, a small, somehow comforting horse keeping me warm.

Somewhere into the night, I was hazily aware of Tug sliding me on his back. I dozed again as his rhythmatic footsteps lulled me to sleep.

I wasn't awake when a warm blanket was draped over me.

Nor was I when I was laid down on a soft bed.

...

I awoke bright and early, the fresh scent of pine and oak filling my nostrils and clearing my vision. I stretched and yawned, and hopped off of Will's small bed and onto the hardwood floors.

I took a deep breath. _Might as well get this over with_, I reasoned.

I walked into the main room of the cabin, where Halt, Will, and Horace all sat at the table.

Horace was the first to notice me. "Good morning, Emilie," He smiled, then continued to wolf down a heap of potatoes.

Will turned around and beckoned for me to come to the table.

"I suppose Will's bed was much preferred to sleeping in the woods?" Halt took a long draught of dark brown coffee.

"Yes, thank you." I hopped in a seat next to Horace. Will promptly stood up, and prepared me a plate of sausage, biscuits, and potatoes. I inhaled deeply, remembering similar meals my mother used to cook.

_Used to_. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered my current position.

Will placed the plate, along with a mug of fragrant black coffee, in front of me. I immediately began to dig into the food, even thought my stomach was a knot.

Will smiled. "Good to see you eating healthy. We were afraid your appetite might be a little weak after sleeping for a good part of the week." He winked and continued to eat.

Ah. A vague notation of how long I was out.

Halt wiped his hands on a rag and looked at me. "I suppose you should be in the know. After you quite recklessly ran off yesterday, a letter from Crowley arrived for us." He picked up a letter that was resting on the table. "It says here," He said, adjusting himself in the seat, "that we are to protect you, Emile Bjornsdotter,"—that was totally not my last name, but I guess it fit the time I was in—"While we track down a man named Jonathan Lark. He didn't have any good reasons or explanations, the letter basically said, 'Just do this.' "Halt raised an eyebrow and looked me in the eye. " So I suppose we'll have to leave soon. We are on a mission, of course."

Horace spoke up. "They went to the Baron yesterday..." He paused. "Do you know who...you do? Oh, okay. Anyway, they got the letter checked out with him, and we are due to set off in a few hours time." He finished his breakfast with a large gulp of coffee, finishing almost the whole mug in one drink.

Will said, "Are you okay with this, Emilie? I can understand if you don't trust us." His sincerity made me think about my answer.

"Well...not entirely, no. I do trust you all, but my knowing about this was a bit...Abrupt, at the least. I just want to do what I have to do, and get home." I tried to be as polite as I could without seeming like I would kill anyone or anything to get home.

'Cause I would.

"Oh," Halt said, returning from the other room. He was so quiet; I hadn't even realized he left. "This was found next to the bed, Emilie. I suppose it's for you, because your name was pinned to the front." He held up a green drawstring bag. I accepted it and opened it up, to see its content.

A bottle of bug spray, a first aid kit, a set of strange clothes, a bone comb, a toothbrush, a small compact mirror, a slingshot, a few magazines, changes of undergarments, a notepad and a few pens, a bug and flower identification book, a flashlight, some walkie-talkies, a few batteries, a pack of gum, a stick of deodorant, and a bar of soap.

I shrugged. Sort of like an overnight bag for a sleepover.

"Great," I said, looking up. "Just about everything I need."

Halt came out of the other room again. "It also came with this." In both of his hands a long blade in a leather scabbard was held. Even though it was in the scabbard, the delicate object still looked magnificent.

Horace took it, unsheathed it, and held it in his hands. "Good," He remarked. "Exceptionally good. It has great balance, and the blade looks like it could really snap some other swords in two. That man in the white knew his stuff." Horace handed me my new sword, and I could only just bask in its presence.

The hilt was finely shaped with a grip that was as comfortable to my hand as could be. At the very base of the blade, a small golden lizard wrapped around once, two small emeralds for eyes.

The blade was long and elegant, encrypted with some writing of sorts that I couldn't comprehend.

The silvery metal gleamed in the morning sunlight.

As I was marveling at the beauty in front of me, I felt a strange sensation. It started in my right hand, where I was gripping sword, and surged up and throughout my body.

It was an electric, tingly feeling, the kind you get from drinking a couple energy drinks. Soon, the tingling turned to pulsing and vibrating, and it fizzled throughout my blood.

Finally, it reached my head.

My mind was filled with images and memories of fighting, training, and working with this same sword under intense heat. Memories of swinging and clashing, ducking, jumping and swiping, striking and defending.

False memories. Memories that were not mine.

And all at once, a whoosh of confidence that I could use this sword. Anytime, Anywhere.

Horace asked, "Do you know how to use it?"

I gulped and nodded rightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." I looked at the three men. "I'm going to change into my clothes, if you don't mind." They shrugged and continued to eat.

I walked into Will's small room. The door didn't have a lock, so I leaned against it to prevent anyone from entering.

I took out the bundle of clothes that was given to me, and dressed quickly. I eyed my new wardrobe change with interest.

It was felt as though it was made of leather that had been dyed red. The shirt ended just below my collarbone, and swooped down a tad in the back. Two sleeve-like metal piece came out of the shirt and wrapped around my shoulders, connected to the shirt by small metal pieces a few inches beside the armpit.

The shorts stopped mid-thigh, and were the same color and leather as the shirt. A golden cloth belt hung loosely around my waist.

And, around every part of the strange outfit were golden metal designs. They were all symmetrical in accordance to the middle of the two garments. They were mainly straight lines, but an occasional swoop or curve added elegance to the whole outfit.

Looking at myself, I smirked and thought of how cool I would probably look. (Thankfully, the shirt covered my big ugly bandages.) I confidently walked forward, then stumbled and nearly fell as I painfully hit my foot hard on the sword that was lying on the ground.

I mumbled some words, and strapped on the sandals that came with the clothes. I picked up the sword and confidently wielded it.

My confidence faded as I realized that I was almost okay with using this sword. I gulped and thought of the blood that had washed off this blade a long time ago.

I slumped on the ground next to the door, and held my knees close to my body.

Why was I acting all okay with anything and everything that was going on? I wasn't. I wanted to get out of there as soon as I possibly could. Why was I so calm with all of this?

Freakin' Silas playing mind games with me.

I heard a small knock on the door. "Emilie?"

"Come in." I didn't get up.

Horace opened the door. He looked around for a minute, then saw me on the ground. "What's the matter?"

I stared at him bluntly.

A light of realization dawned on his face and he lightly smacked his forehead. "Sorry. Stupid question." He closed the door and sat down next to me. You seemed alright at the morning meal. Why a sudden change?"

I sighed. "I realized that knowing how to use a sword and actually using it are two completely different things." He nodded and stared forward. "I mean, I really don't want to be here. You all are a nice and have been really good to me, but I just want to go. I'm not quite sure why it's me that has to save all you guys, but I'm not feeling very up to it."

"I understand." Horace patted my shoulder.

"You do?"

"'Course." He said, smiling. "Will and I went to Celtica once-...Um, I suppose you know already." Silas told Will, Halt and Horace what I know about them. "Anyway, during that whole time I was really confident. It was just a mission to carry a message, I know. But once Gilan left, I was scared." He seemed pretty sincere. "Will and Evanlyn and I were only fifteen; I hadn't even finished two years of Battle school. I was scared and just hoped that we would make it back to Araluen okay.

"But after what happened at the bridge, I was completely confident. I knew that what I had to do then was important and that I could and would do it." He grinned. "Besides. I only had this huge butter knife." He tapped his sheathed sword. "You have and enchanted sword and the aid of a god-like creature. If anything, this will be a breeze."

I nodded. "I guess you're right."

He helped me up. "Did that help conquer your fears?"

"Yeah, mostly. Thank you, Horace."

He smiled and nodded. "Good. We are loading up the horses outside, so get your things together." He left the room.

My smile faded as he left. Tear droplets stung my eyes.

"But I still miss my family."

...

So what's up, party people? This one FOR SURE didn't take as long as the last to get up here. But it's up so be happy. Okay, so one day, I said to myself, "Self, why don't I include my viewers in my story? I would be nice to have a way to give back for all the time they've spent reading and reviewing." So, I am. Who's your favorite RA character? Include it in a review, and whoever gets the most votes will be in my next post, and will say something special, or have longer dialogue than usual. I'll give a shout-out to those whom voted for him/her, also. So, review the story and vote for your favorite, because time is running out as you read. Even if you don't have an FF account, you can still review, which is quite nice if you ask me.

Until next time,

~The Tempest


	9. The Quest

**IMPORTANT:**

And, the winner of my little contest, is the mysterious, grim, straight-faced yet warm-hearted Halt! (Now imagine me in a cute little red dress handing Halt a golden trophy.) The reviewers who voted for the rough Ranger were **Cassie**, **Rydd ****Rider** ,** Arya the Forensic one** , and **Anna the Nut**! Thanks to all who voted. I would like to give a special shout-out to **Red Baron A.K.A. Crowley**, for your comment. That caught me totally off guard, and I laughed really hard at that, whether it was serious or not.

Also, I'd like to ask **Arya the Forensic** **one** a question. Are you/did you used to be Mo the Forensic one? And, if so, does your name change with your favorite book character? And, final question, Is it/ was it Mo from Inkheart, and Arya from Eragon? Please comment back on your side of the story.

Final note: Why does everyone comment at 2 AM?

...

"This certainly is a strange mission, Will." Alyss's careful eyes missed nothing as she analyzed his letter from Crowley.

They stood in the town square, along with many other townsfolk. The horses stood in the middle of the crowd, a blonde-haired girl stroking one's mane.

Alyss had just read Will's assignment letter, confused at the jumble of technical errors and irresponsible mistakes.

"Crowley usually seems so composed and relaxed. It's not like him to simply throw a letter together and send it. His reasons for sending you are hazy, the letter's structure is far from formal, and I believe he spelled 'exceptionally' incorrectly." She huffed and scanned the letter again.

Will pushed a stray strand of golden blond hair out of her eyes. "Relax," He said breezily, and Alyss looked up to see his large, warm smile.

The courier sighed. "I guess you're right," she agreed, giving in to the influence of the grin. "I'm just a bit mad that you're leaving again. It's hardly been two weeks since you came back from Skandia, and we weren't even able to meet since you took care of _her_." She nodded her head toward the girl patting a gray horse, the same breed as Will's.

Will planted a kiss on Alyss's forehead. "I truly am sorry about this. She is a big part of the mission, you know."

Alyss's frown melted into a sympathetic half-smile. "I know. And it was very kindly of you to take care of her. Though I believe she would've been in better care with Lady Pauline and I."

Will shrugged. "You're the diplomat, don't blame me for the lack of wit. And I think she looks fine." He took Alyss's hands. "I hope you know I'll be back as soon as I possibly can."

Alyss raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think you quite like going on these adventures."

Will shrugged. "Maybe. But the idea of you, me and Ebony relaxing by a fireplace is a tempting one."

"Ebony and _I."_

"Like I said, you're the diplomat." Will leaned in to kiss Alyss.

"Yip!Yip!Yipyipyipyipyip!"

Will stopped and looked down to see Ebony running back and forth, yipping as fast and as loud as she could.

"Speaking of Ebony." Alyss patted her head, calming the small dog down a tad. "I'll take good care of her Wil."

"I'm sure you will." He kissed Alyss deeply.

...

"Oh, Halt. I wish you could retire already." Pauline smiled looked Halt into his gray eyes.

"I'm not dead yet." Halt smiled back to his wife.

"I understand. I want you home_ before_ you die, if you will." Pauline took Halt's course hand into her small, soft ones. "I'm just worried is all."

"Don't. I'll be fine."

"Oh, I'm not worried about you. I'm worried that Will will sing his greybeard song again, and that he may come back without a mandolin."

"I'm not sure he has a mandolin, but that lute of his will be deep in the river." Halt cracked a smile.

Pauline hugged her small husband.

"I worry about you, too." Halt's tone became serious.

Pauline frowned. "Why is that? My line of work isn't half as dangerous as yours."

"I'm just afraid you'll meet someone else." Halt looked down.

Pauline smiled sweetly and kissed her husband for a long time. "How could I forget someone as good as you would be waiting for me back home?"

...

Horace's friend balanced his sword in one hand, marveling at the perfect weight and razor blade-perfect edge.

"This is just beautiful, Horace," Arick, the man holding the sword, said.

"No kidding. King duncan awarded it to you?" A man named Dean inquired.

Horace, never one for boasting, smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, he did. It still takes a couple hours with the whetstone to get the tip like that."

Dean and Arick smiled knowingly. "Know how that feels." Arick returned the sword to Horace, who sheathed it on his belt.

"I haven't seen you by the castle in a few months. Were have you been?"

Dean rolled his eyes and grunted. "The Baron had us posted in Hibernia, to make sure the Outsiders hadn't started another revolt. I, for one, think they're dead and gone, but the government can never be too paranoid."

"Ah. I assume you had a nice time, then?" Horace put on a joking smile.

Arick returned the same smile. "Of course. Nice like a pack of sharks."

Dean scoffed. "Cold and wet and slimy. The snow has turned into a nice layer of muck and slush, and the rain contaminated our food supply, and the mud on my boots took nearly two weeks to come all the way off."

Horace chuckled. "Better off than fighting wars, I believe."

Arick smiled. "I guess so. But how is it up in castle Araluen? Getting pretty comfortable with princess Cassandra, is what I hear." He nudged Horace with his elbow and laughed along with Dean.

Horace blushed furiously and tried to keep a straight face. "Think what you want." He said stubbornly.

"Whatever, guy."

Dean pointed to the blonde girl by the horses. "Who's she? Last I heard, only you, Will and Halt were in the Special Tasks group."

"Her name is Emilie. She's the one we're supposed to protect on the mission."

Arick frowned. "Her style of clothing is a bit...revealing, if you ask me." He gestured to her short shorts, and low-cut top.

Horace nodded. He had been surprised to see her in anything other than skirts and tunics, especially not clothing like what she had on.

"She said that's what women wear from where she's from."

"Then I believe I want to visit wherever she lives." Dean grinned.

"She's about the age of my sister. What's she doing with that sword?" Arick squinted at the delicate blade resting on her belt.

Horace nodded. "That's what I thought. She said she knows how to use it, although." He glanced over to Will, who nodded at him.

Horace shook hand with his friends. "Time for me to set off." The other young knights nodded and patted his back.

"Godspeed, Horace."

...

Emilie mounted her horse, with some difficulty. Thankfully, the sturdy gray horse was smaller than many of the horses she had seen before.

"First mission, Willow?" The horse glanced at her as if to reply, _Bring it_.

Emilie smiled nervously. She had been aquainting herself with the small horse, who had arrived at Will's house just a few short hours before. On his back he carried a small satchel of some supplies for Emilie, a note attached that read, "Willow."

Emilie looked upon the girl Will had spoken to admirably. This was, she had decided, one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Her blonde hair curled around her shoulders lightly, and intelligent gray eyes sparkled lively. For a minute, Emilie was jealous of the beautiful woman.

Then she remembered that this girl didn't have indoor plumbing, and she called it even.

Emilie snapped out of her daze when a voice called over to her.

"Let's get on with it, then. I'm not getting any younger and you sure aren't getting any wiser." She tossed her head back to see Halt staring at her impatiently, raising one eyebrow.

She shrugged nervously. "You have the map. Lead the way."

Halt and the others swiveled their horses to the main road, waving a silent goodbye to their friends and family.

Emilie looked back at the gathered crowd, all waving cheerfuly and calling goodbyes for the three heroes.

No one gathered for the small, frightened girl.

She directed her face to the direction her horse was walking, and closed her eyes.

_Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father. I hope I live to see you again._

A small tear rolled down her cheek, and she defiantly cast her gaze toward the horizon.

...

Aaaaaand there you have it. The adventure begins. What will happen to our four heroes? (Four, right?...Yeah, four.) Will your lashes drip with tears of sadness? Will your throat ache from uncontrollable laughter? Will you be SO COMPLETELY scared sh*tless, that you are indeed to the point of soiling yourself in pure horrific terror?

Probably. I have *most* of the story figured out, anyway. Sorry if updates are slim, what with school back in full swing. This is more of a hobby then something I would do religiously, as it really helps you try to work with characters, and make them act as they should. That way, you've had experience once you start writing for your own.

**Budding poet/writer?** I suggest you stop by the website called . You submit your stories, and people read, rate, and give feedback and suggetions to your work. Make it into the top five, and your story will be read by a HarperCollins editor.

For reals.

It's pretty much just for teen/ pre-teens, and I think this is my target audience right na.

**Hey, did y'all like the comment question thingy? If so, then here's one: Favorite color? Pretty generic, but I'd like to know.**

Anyway, I need to go take off my makeup for the night. See you on the flippety-flip.

~The Tempest


	10. The Master

Guess what I'm doing? Eating some SOUP.

….

The soft hush of the wind blew leaves by his feet, a reminder of the autumn months that were soon to come. The leaves skidded across the beaten dirt road, tossing and turning in the light breeze.

The new Jonathan Lark crunched the leaves as he walked down the road.

Alone.

He needed followers. An army. Some sort of force that would fight for him.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Awaken!" He shouted, expecting to hear the clank and clatter of his undead army, shifting and moving in their armor.

He only heard more leaves sighing in the wind.

He grumbled angrily. _I will never get used to a human's restraints, _he thought with a raised eyebrow. Calling forth the full strength of his power, he thrust a hand forward and channeled all his energy and power toward the hand.

"Awaken!" He tried again, louder this time, and heard something fall to the floor. He opened his eyes, with something that might have resembled excitement, and looked to where his hand was pointed on the ground.

A thimble.

_A THIMBLE?_ He thought furiously, then lashed out at whatever was nearby him. The small tree snapped in half and toppled over from the blow.

That had helped. Suddenly, he felt the most peculiar feeling in the hand he had struck the tree with. He brought the hand up to his line of vision, to see that a reddish lump was forming.

What was this feeling? It was very unpleasant, and made him want to groan aloud in…in…

Pain. That was the word. Pain. He had almost forgotten he could feel it.

He brushed all his thought aside, and left the thimble in its place. It would do him no good.

…

He arrived at the small tavern around noon, a run-down shack that looked to be dying in its place. Jonathan was sure the small pub would be filled with villagers looking for an escape from the labors of farming and smithing and whatnot.

Without another thought, he strode silently inside the beaten shack. As he had predicted, about one hundred people were clustered inside the space, with not a spare seat in the building. People absentmindedly looked up to the handsome newcomer, looked back to their drinks, then slowly lifted their gaze again. Something about the intensity in his young eyes made him seem...dangerous.

With a sweep of his hand, he lifted the large, rather expensive-looking amulet off of his neck. He thrust it out, holding the chain, and beckoned the villagers to come closer.

"Men, come with me. A new revolution is starting, and you are going to be part of it. You will follow me to the ends of the earth, if you must, and will forever be at my side." The amulet glowed a dark purple, and the eyes of the men in the room began to glaze.

"Yes, we accept the duty." The men said in unison, as if they had just been asked the time.

Their wives, however, were not under the same spell. "Ander, what are you saying? This man has gone completely insane." One dark-haired women scolded at her husband.

Lark began to talk once again. "Women, gather your children, and meet us at Hemlock Creek. You will also be my servants, and the children will grow to be my followers. I command it." The gem began to glow dark red.

"Of course, Master." The women bowed their heads.

The old, frail bartender who had been in the cool room, had stepped out at this moment and into the room. The man with the necklace seemed not to notice him. But something seemed familiar about this man...

Ah! He had it. It was the young fellow whom had given him a couple chickens in a harsh winter, once. But, that must've been over thirty years ago...

"Jonathan Lark, is that you?" The shaky voice came from behind the bar table. At once, the new Jonathan Lark swept his hand and sent a force toward the old man. The elderly bartender was thrust back and hit the wall against the hard, splintered wall, moaning as he fell at the floor.

The young man turned back to his newly found followers. "The weak will perish in our new revolution. Anyone who defies me, my will, or any of my limits will be faced, ultimately, with death. And I do not make any exceptions." His dark gaze swept across the dingy tavern.

"Yes, sire. We will follow your will." The crowd told him dutifully, strangely not sounding as if they were in a trance.

Jonathan Lark's mouth twisted into what could be called a smile. Slipping the amulet back onto his pale neck, he turned toward the door. His new followers started after him, his command their new will.

Outside, it was just as sunny as ever. Jonathan led his small group to their destination, starting his camp immediately.

"You! Bring supplies from the local market. Rob them if you have to. You! Start a fire. Night is already approaching." The young man barked orders as he stood atop a large rock. The rate the people were working, camp would be set up in no time.

How easily this kingdom would fall into his grasp.

...

It was nighttime at Hemlock Creek Camp. Sturdy men guarded the entryways, ready to deal with those who tried to escape.

The New Jonathan Lark sat in a grand tent, many a servant and thief tending to his will. He reclined in a comfortable wooden chair, sipping some expensive stolen wine. The dark, warm liquid soothed his bones, still aching from transformation. The smooth fire of alcohol licked against his throat, lulling him to...

To...?

He racked his brain for the word. What was it? He was...tired. Yes, that was a component. He was tired of the long day and the long night spent planning. But what was happening? His eyelids were heavy as lead. He set down his goblet and closed his eyes, to think a bit deeper. All of a sudden, a warm fuzziness settled over him, and he felt his consciousness slipping away. At the last small flutter of his eyes, he remembered the word.

He was in need of rest.

The human body will not fail to perplex me, he thought as the soft blanket of sleep draped upon his young figure.

….

Back to the main plot next week, promise. This one was just really important.

**So, new comment question: FAV SONG? I promise to listen to them if you submit it!**

So, as you can tell, I really just update when I can. This story isn't my world, I have a social life. So, I'll be seeing you later, and promise me not to get paint on cute jeans. CAUSE I DID.

~The Tempest


	11. The Rune

Hey everybody out there! I would've written last week, but promise me, I was literally SWAMPED with homework. I have had nearly three tests in every subject to study for, a couple projects to finish that I was to present the next day, a totally obscure and impossible video to find for my project, note cards to do, and math homework.

But hey now I'm all free and I can actually write for a couple days. Then I have to study for mid-terms. Anyways, about the comment question... I have two favorite songs, by the way. They are "Like a G-6" by the Far East Movement, and "Mine," by Taylor Swift. I listen to a mainstream pop radio, so that's the kind I like, along with other stuff mixed in.

But who cares about Tempest? It's Emilie you guys want to hear about.

...

The air was cool, as usual for an Autumn night, the grass already wet with tomorrow's dew. A small drop of moisture rolled quickly down a leaf, coming to a sudden stop on the tip. The miniscule form trembled ever so slightly, as if overcome with anxiety. It began to move so very gently, until the drop dangled above the forest floor. It finally leapt from the safe leaf, and out into the dangerous night.

It landed on my head, with a small _ploip_! , and I awoke.

Then, I _really_ awoke.

Suddenly, I my head was no longer foggy or stuffy, as it had been for several days. I had suggested to myself that it was the medicine the healer had given me while I was asleep. I remembered Will and Horace telling me I may be not right in the head for...

Wait. Will? Horace? Why was I still with them? I wasn't, was I? I slowly rolled my gaze to the left, where I saw the hulking body of Horace in a deep slumber.

The tingling awe of horror slowly settled throughout my body, heightening my senses and my sense of paranoia.

I had not agreed to that stupid hero thing.

...Had I?

Hazily, I remember muffling something to that man in the white space, then falling to my knees. I had fallen to my knees nearly in regret, because I had...

Because... I had accepted.

My eyes widened with fear as I shot up from my blankets. The night air chilled me to the bone, but my blood ran even colder. What had I been thinking? Traveling on a journey in a different world, with a group of ADULT MEN?

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Oh, no. This isn't real. I didn't do this. No." I kept repeating to myself. What about my mother? My father? My siblings? My friends? What would they think when Silas dropped off my body at their doorstep, dead by being stabbed seven times, more than likely raped, and had been thrown in a river where all they could identify me by was my teeth?

WHAT IN THE HELL HAD I BEEN THINKING?

The anesthesia. That's it. The anesthesia-like drug clouded my head, my judgment foggy, my thinking skills like that of a nine year old at best. But, if Silas knew that, then why had he...

Silas.

Suddenly, I took off into the forest, running as fast as I could. The frozen ground was marble beneath my bare feet, but I hardly notice. My dirty blonde hair fell in front of my face in sticky clumps, reminding me how I had not bathed in days. I pushed soggy branch after soggy branch out of my way, until I could no longer see the campsite.

I stopped near a large rock, looking all around to make sure no one heard. The men at the camp had definitely heard me, I was sure they'd be hot on my trail.

I decided quick, and shouted the one word to change all of this:

"SILAS."

Suddenly, the world of Araluen melted all around me, to reveal the white space once again. A young man sat, a cup of tea in one hand, a book in the other. He was wearing old-style clothing, but seemed perfectly at home in the blank white void.

He looked at me with sharp green eyes that seemed to be familiar, but I just couldn't think of it.

"Who are you? Where's Silas." It was more of an order than it was a question.

The man took a long draught of the dark, fragrant tea, and threw his cup aside. It vanished in midair. The book he was reading had also vanished, leaving only him and me in the space.

"Emily, what are you talking about? You know who I am." He smiled politely.

I furrowed my brow. "What? You're crazy. I've never met you before in my life. I really ju-"

"I'm Silas." His interruption caught me completely off guard, and I spluttered while in search for a decent reply.

"What?" I said, tired of so many games. "No. I refuse to believe this. The Silas I knew was old and tired. You're...young and alive, I guess. Now where is the actual Silas?" My volume rose as I grew angrier and angrier.

The imposter chuckle a bit, and regarded me with a knowing smile. "Emilie, I am Silas. I just appeared to be old so I would look that much wiser. Do you think Halt would've trusted a young guy like me?" He sat on a chair that appeared below him suddenly, and put his elbows on his knees. He still looked at me with that irritating, irritating smile.

I was at loss for words. The guy I had put so much faith into, was lying. "You tricked us?" I shouted, my words strangely not echoing in the void.

"Of course not! I was just helping everyone out. You would have never accepted if it weren't for how I appeared wise and the anesthe-" He caught himself and clamped his mouth shut.

But he had already said enough. My eyes widened, then slowly narrowed. A cold snake entwined my heart in its icy grip. I glared at him through brown eyes dark with anger and hate, staring through him like a clean window.

"You knew." I slowly accused Silas, pouring all my fury and hatred into the pair of words.

"Emilie, you must trust me! It wasn't for-

"But you knew! You knew all along that I wasn't thinking straight, and you used it to your advantage. You could've given me more time to think, a few days till my head cleared, but you didn't! The world just HAD to be saved right then and there, did it?" My fingernails dug into the soft palm of my hand as they clenched into fists.

"But If it wasn't for the l-"

"SHUT UP!" I began to shout as anger slowly built up inside me, every word acting as kindling to the fire of my hate. "Just shut up with the excuses! You deliberately stole me away from my home without even asking for my rational answer! I cannot believe how low that is."

"Listen to me," He was on the brink of shouting, too. "I never put you in any danger, anyway! They are good men, who would never have the thought of hurting you. They are truly kind and well-meaning people, and will take care of you." He seemed like he was trying to soothe me. It didn't work.

"Yeah. I should _really _trust a magical man floating in a white void, should I? And, while on the way, trust three grown men who have knifes and swords and whatever else! That seems like _such_ a good idea, doesn't it?" Each word dripped heavily with sarcasm like a wet rag. "And when I'm half-dead, in my house, raped a few times, the excuse to my poor, sad little mother would be, "Oh, its okay, mom! A magical man in space told me to do it!" I was now crying and sobbing like a madman. I kept talking, even though every word strangled my throat and my voice was hoarse and dry. "That's _exactly _what I should do, isn't it? Trust a stranger? Four strangers? That came from a _fantasy book_?" I could no longer speak, and I fell in a ball on the floor. I seemed to do that a lot lately.

Silas sighed heavily, and looked at the broken mess of a girl in front of him. He walked up to me, and placed his hand on my shoulder. I didn't care. I didn't really care about anything at this point.

"Emilie," he spoke softly. "Why would I do this to anyone if it was a trick? Okay, I admit, I was wrong to appear old or use you while you weren't right in the head. That was truly low of me, and I'm sorry. But, now that you and I are here once again, would you like to help the world from destruction? I understand if you want to go home, or if you never want to see me again, but I will offer you something for the journey, if you choose to accept." He held out a hand to one side, and I slowly uncurled and lifted my gaze to see him.

A small burst of light popped and twinkled above his palm, and suddenly a large pendant sat in his hand. It had a white stone set in the middle of intricate gold patterns, a creamy white gold chin with small blue stones in the loops. It was something you would pay hundreds of dollars for, just for the knockoff brand.

"It's a Rune of Protection. Wear this, and no one you do not like will be punished. Try it, I guarantee it works." He tried his best smile, which wouldn't do much at this point.

I didn't move. I just regarded it with red eyes.

He gently slipped the necklace upon my neck, and instantly I felt warm. It spread throughout my body, replacing any feelings of harm or sadness. My tears stopped, and I sat up. I looked to Silas, who held out a hand to help me up.

I grabbed it, and a spark flew from my fingertips to his hand, causing him to jump and smother a yelp. He cradled his hand, which now had a few red bumps forming. "Heh. Could you think of me as nice whilst I help you?" He gulped and tentatively held out a hand.

I tried to think of not tearing his lungs out as I stood up with Silas's help.

"See? I told you it would work. If anyone, even your own mother, is seen as untrustworthy or sinister in your vision, they will be hurt. The stronger the hate, the more severe the pain. Do you trust me now?" His face showed all sings of pure sincerity.

I furrowed my brow. "No." I tried to be as straightforward as I could. "I don't trust you. Not after what you did. But I trust that this necklace works. And I trust that you will send me back, on my word. But I still hate you, know that. With burning fury."

"I understand completely. But, In your home world, you're still asleep. I have slowed time to over nine millionths of a fraction of what it usually is. A hologram of yourself has been placed there, and I don't even think anyone will enter your room the time that you are gone, which shouldn't be more than one night's sleep in the time rift your world has entered." Silas explained slowly, my throbbing headache from crying pulsing with every word.

"Now, for the real question," Silas looked me dead in the eyes. "Will you help this world? I swear to heaven and God and whoever you believe in, that I will not let you be harmed, physically or mentally, by any of the men you travel with. I cannot say the same for others or environment, but I promise what I can.

"I will supply your needs best I can, but a lot of things that I can produce in this realm do not apply to the real world. The clothes, toiletries, and sword were things that I had in my world, even the Rune was mine. I would let you stay the night in this place and eat here, but my power is literally draining by the minute as we speak. It's hard for me to hold this place in existence, so we must only use it for contact and emergencies." He swallowed a deep breath. "So, Emilie Trenton, known as Emilie Bjornsdottir to the Araluens, will you accept to save this world in need?" He held out his hand.

I regarded the hand with apprehension, and thought of all I was giving away by shaking it. My life, my family, my safety.

My sanity.

But, I also thought of all I was handing to evil by not shaking it. A world full of innocent peoples, who had done nothing wrong, and who would die just because I was in a rotten mood.

I closed my eyes, breathed through my nostrils, and shook his hand.

Suddenly, I was back in the forest, the cold air and damp earth shocking my senses all at once, my headache pulsing harder than ever. My arm was still outstretched, clasping an imaginary hand.

Calmer, though still puffy eyed and weary, I walked silently back to camp. The forest no longer scared me, as it would any regular night.

But this night had been far from regular.

As I neared our small clearing in which we had made camp, I heard a small rustle of the bushes near me. I spun on my heels quickly, wishing I had brought my sword with me. As my cold fingers curled into fists, calling forth my artificial fighting memories, A silhouette of a slight man appeared from the direction I was looking. I clenched my teeth.

It was the one they called Halt, who had apparently been looking for me.

"Where did you go?" He had his hands on his hips, reminding me of a very angry mother. "Why did you decide to run off like that? You know the dangers of woods, there could many a beast or man in here to maul you!" His angry stare burned into my pupils. I would've looked down if I weren't as mad as he.

"I had to talk to Silas." I stated, my hands on my hips, too.

"Well, take one of us with you next time! You are our responsibility, and we can't have you in any mortal danger as of now!" _As of now? _What, did he want me to be in danger any other time?

His eyes still were shooting daggers into mine, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. Yes, I did in fact cause them more worry than they needed. But if I didn't go, I would never have gotten the rune.

I turned around and marched back to camp, Halt following in close pursuit, babbling angrily at me like some sort of mother hen. The earth was damp and the leaves were slimy, causing my feet to stick somewhat as I walked.

As I entered our humble camp, I saw Horace and Will talking around the dying embers of a teeny fire.

"Emily!" The one named Will said. "We thought you had gone home, or back to your world at least. Horace and I wondered what would happen if-" I cut him off.

"Shut up!" I turned, right in his face. I knew he didn't deserve this, but I was mad and he was there. "Just shut up! I don't care what you thought! I don't care if you were killed while I was gone, if your horses were killed, or if you all just decided to leave me! I just want want to be left alone, to think for a minute or two! Maybe even cry, or decide to ultimately leave you guys!" My fingers twisted angrily in my hair, brownish-blonde strands tearing from my scalp. Tears threatened to appear, but I mentally blocked them. Too much had I cried that day, and it wasn't even morning yet.

Horace took on a comforting tone. "Hey," he reasoned. "It's okay; we'll let you be, if you like. We were just w-" His hand, outstretched to pat my shoulder, made contact with my skin. He stopped mid-sentence as a jolt ran throughout his arm, and possibly everywhere else. He took a painful step back, a yelp of shock, and looked at me through eyes clouded with surprise and question. Too strong to be reduced to his knees, I observed.

"Don't touch me," I said coldly, barely more than a whisper, but the words were loud as a siren in the dead silence. Will and Halt, still trying to assess the situation, seemed to want to say something, but not knowing what would express their thoughts.

"I have a rune," I spoke, as if that would explain everything. "Touch me, you are shocked. Leave me be, I'll do what you say. Maybe." I turned back to my small bedroll, acknowledging that they may not know what shocked meant. But my words seemed to leave an imprint, as they quietly questioned Horace.

My mother would disapprove of such rudeness. _Mother_, I thought wearily, my eyelids suddenly drooping. The combination of crying, yelling, my wounds, and all the hate: I was worn out with a huge headache.

I ducked underneath my blankets, forcing myself to sleep, suddenly hating the people who kept me here. The ones who I was supposed to save. I hated them because their presence here forced my own presence here. I hated the men I was with, they being so at home with traveling and fighting. I hated Silas, for lying and using me. I hated Silas's sister, for being stupid and dragging herself into that necklace.

Maybe it's just a dream, I told myself. And I half-believed it, the reality was so abnormal. But, deep down, I knew I was merely lying to myself. I was stuck in some bizarre fantasy world, following some sort of destiny that was reminiscent of a story plot.

My body shut down the minute I closed my eyes. The last thought floating in my mind rang clear as a bell before I fell asleep: _Don't trust anyone_.

...

Okay, I have confessions.

Yesh, Emily is mary-sueish, and I'm sorry. This is my first actual piece of writing that I've ever intended to finish, And I'm still only just a kid. I need some time to really figure out who she is, not just a pretty face in Araluen. Her name may be mary-sueish, cause of the ie instead of the y, but in my defense I know three Emily's, who spell their names EmmaLee, Emylee, and Emilie. But I'll change it to the -y, cause it does make it easier on me. Yeah, so she doesn't have much character other than being a brat as of now, but this is really just a heavy weight for me, making characters. It should be easier than it is, but it's not. I'll make a huge character sheet with her and hablablah, cause that usually helps me figure stuff out.

You all have been so understanding with all of this, and I'm so grateful and surprised to the point of tears. I haven't gotten one hate comment, and the ones that do ask to improve Emily, are usually nice and well-meaning. You guys mean so much to me, and have helped me so much to bloom as an author with all your feedback.

So, please comment or review with anything at all that you want to say, about Emily or the world or me or whatever.** That's the comment question, I guess, just spill all your thoughts about my story. **

I love you all bunches, and I just want to give you readers daffodils and sunshine for Christmas, but they are both out of season. If I don't update till late, have a merry Christmas!

-Tempest


	12. The Scry

Will woke up for the last watch that morning, though after last night's ordeals he hadn't much sleep. The sun peeked over the surrounding forest as he perched in his high branch, much higher than most would dare. His eyes filled with the sudden glare of the sun, he busied himself with climbing down the tree and starting the coffee.

A small rustling of cloth caught his attention, and he looked to the small camp to see Halt pulling his tunic and cloak over his undershirt.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Will called teasingly, observing Halt's grim expression and slow movements.

Halt mumbled angrily under his breath, and Will's grin grew larger. "...Sunshine, what...Damn coffee..." Will could only catch the few words, and was eager to follow whatever incoherent orders he could. He poured a full mug of the hot, deliciously dark liquid and handed it to his former mentor. "Here you go," Halt accepted the mug and, after taking a long draught, smacked Will on the back of the head.

"Don't call me Sunshine." He spoke clearer, less foggy now, and began to prepare a dry breakfast.

Will chuckled. "Just trying to make light of the mood is all." He poured himself a similar mug went to untie some of the food packs from Tug.

"Well, don't try. It's bad enough that we already have one," Halt frowned, and looked to the sleeping form of Horace. "No, _two_ children. You don't have to act like one, too." He bit into a piece of smoked fish.

"Oh, it's what happened last night with Emilie, is it?" Will asked earnestly, sitting next to Halt in the grass.

"Yes, yes it is. To me, it seems wrong for a man to..._Force_ a girl away from her home, wherever that is, and drop her here with us." He sighed briefly.

"Of course. God knows we're the worst people to be left with," Will noted how Halt didn't smile at the joke.

"Besides, she seems really young to be left like this. She hasn't had any training, has already cried more times than I have in the past few decades, and already doesn't trust us at all. I'm not even sure how to wake her up without yelling at her from a distance, what with that rune." He finished his side of trout and stood up, brushing himself off.

"At least we know no one can hurt her with that thing." Will tossed the dregs of his coffee in the bushes and reached for another cupful. He heard a large yawn, and glanced back to the bedrolls. A newly-awoken Horace hopped to his feet, quickly throwing on his belt and scabbard. He moved quickly to where Will was pouring coffee, picking up a mug for himself.

"You're unusually keen this morning. Usually we have to wake you up, and even then you sleep as you eat." Will slowly sipped the dark, rich coffee, enjoying it more this time.

"I was shocked, or whatever she called it, by a little girl. I want to stay alert for the next few days, or at least until she loosens up a bit." Horace drained his cup in one large gulp. "Besides, you seem awfully bright today. Why?"

Will smiled. "I'm trying to ignore the fact that we have a girl who can pat us on the shoulder and bring us to our knees. I'm hoping that she'll warm up to us if we act like last night never happened."

Horace opened his mouth to reply, when a clinking of metal directed his attention to a spot near a large oak. Emilie had awoken, and was busy trying to hook her belt and scabbard* around her slim waist. She muttered unheard curses as she tinkered with the leather pelt, constantly pushing her scabbard out of the way of her clumsy fingers.

Horace, his sense of compassion taking over him, left Will's side and lightly, almost cautiously, walked to Emilie.

"Need help?" He asked innocently, holding out his hand for the belt. Emilie looked up at the tall warrior. She was about to tell him she was fine, thanks, when she looked into his eyes, and saw that this was an act of truce. She huffed ever so silently, and handed the belt to Horace. They sat like that for a few minutes, he tinkering with the leather straps and she staring at her bare feet, white against the green and brown ground.

"I'm sorry." Emilie muttered suddenly, almost too quiet for Horace to hear.

"What?" Horace asked, his eyes now on her.

"I said I was sorry," Emilie clearly stated, her eyes still on the ground. "For last night, shocking you, everything. I don't think you deserved that."

Horace turned his eyes back to his work. "I understand, just a little bit. You seem different, though, than when we spoke in the cabin a few days ago. Less...Happy, I believe."

"I think whatever drugs I was on, like, clouded my judgment. Now I see that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I'm scared." Emilie looked honestly to Horace. "I was on edge alot last night. I don't...I'm not as confused and scared as I was, now that I met with Silas and have the rune." She fingered the small jewel at her neck. It felt hot. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Horace nodded in understanding, and held the leather belt and scabbard out to the teenager, who watched him through uneasy brown eyes. Horace gingerly passed the article to her, careful not to touch her hand.

Emilie accepted the belt and, under instruction from the warrior, was able to hook the belt around her waist. Horace stood up, starting toward where Halt had laid out breakfast, and stopped. He turned to the girl. "You really shouldn't wear short trousers, like you are now." Horace saw that the girl seemed to take it as an insult, and he quickly tried to cover up his mistake. "When traveling! When you are traveling, your legs are going to chafe against the saddle, and be caught on prickle bushes and the lot. Just a precaution." The tall young man left to eat.

Emilie heard a small rustling in her bag, and she cautiously opened the satchel. A fresh,new pair of slim trousers sat folded with a note pinned to them.

_Horace is right, I hadn't thought of that. -Silas_, the note read.

Emilie scowled at his stupidity, and disappeared inside the forest to change. The men at camp pretended not to notice, after what had happened the night before.

When Emilie returned, she ate her dry breakfast silently, grimacing slightly at the odd taste of the fish. Will turned to her, a mug and a pot of unknown black liquid in his hand. "Coffee?" He offered. When she was about to refuse, he added, "We probably won't have anything hot to eat or drink in a while, so get it while you can."

Emilie stared at the mug of black she held in her hands, the aroma of pure, fresh coffee drifting to her nose. She had mochas and frappuccinos before, so this wasn't any different, right? She closed her eyes and took a large gulp, instantly wanting to spit it out. It was not at all, in fact, like a mocha or a frappuccino. It was heavy and bitter, unlike any of the regular black coffee she had ever tasted, which wasn't much.

Bravely, she swallowed, her face contorted halfway between a grimace and a pucker.

"If you don't like it, then save the rest for us," Halt said, throwing on his cloak.

"No, I like it." Emilie defiantly stated, much to Halt's doubting "Mm-_hmm_." She quickly gulped down the rest of the hot bitter liquid, wiping off her mouth with her sleeve and tossing the mug in the cook-ware bag. She panted heavily afterward, as if she had been underwater for an hour.

"If we are done watching Emilie's amazing feat of drinking a full mug of coffee, it is time for us to move along." Halt hopped onto Abelard.

* * *

It was midday, the autumn sun heating the small party as they rested at a creek. The adventurers stood, resting against the bodies of their horses.

"Do you know that horse?" Will asked Emilie, trying to make light conversation.

"No, not really," She answered tightly. "just that he was sent to carry me. And that his name is Willow. He seems to know me, though." The horse butted its head affectionately against her.

Will opened his mouth to say something, when Emilie suddenly spoke up again. "Where exactly are we going? i mean, I know that we have to find the evil guy and stuff, but, like, where is he?"

"You use the word 'like' very excessively," Will muttered, and Emilie didn't answer.

Halt, though, reached into a satchel on his dark horse, and pulled out a folded slip of parchment. "I guess you should know, though it's a wonder you already don't." The grizzled ranger stepped over to Emilie, who instinctively took a step back at his approach. Halt held out the map, unfolded, and pointed to an ink blob that resembled trees.

"Hemlock creek is where Silas told us we would find him, right by a small village. It's quite close, in fact, it's in the very next fief."

"Great!" Emilie said, somewhat happy. "So, we just go up to him and-and you put an arrow in his chest, right?" She looked to Will and Halt, who had grim looks upon their faces.

"If he's a fool, then yes." Will answered, stepping toward the map. "But if he's not, and I'm sure this is the case, he will have people guarding him, and he will be constantly moving. The man in the white space, Silas, stated that he was powerful. I'm sure we would weaken him somewhat with our arrows, but if he's some powerful demon, we may be up to a challenge."

"How do we know if he's got people to protect him?" Emilie wondered aloud.

Horace shrugged. "He gave you a scrying stone, didn't he?" Everyone turned to where the tall warrior was standing

"That's a great idea, Horace." Will commented, urging Emilie to look through her bag.

Emilie moved her hand about her satchel, until she felt a smooth, slick surface. She brought out the cool, flat stone, about the size of Halt's hand. "How do I use it?" She said, looking between the faces. Will's hand reached out for the stone and she backed away, her face a mask yet her eyes showing terror. Will frowned slightly, saddened.

"I'll-I'll just say his name, m-maybe that will work." She said, suddenly remembering her silent promise from the night before. She cleared her throat, and loudly called, "Jonathan Lark."

Nothing happened.

She frowned, and was about to shrug and point out that, oh well, she tried, when it began to glow. The surface of the shiny, smooth rock flared and glimmered with different auras of light and color, never choosing a specific shade or hue. Emilie stood, her eyes completely fixated on the stone, when the colors dissipated and blended, to form a picture of a small tent. It looked as though they were watching television as the group joined around the stone, careful not to touch Emilie.

Around the tent were many others, and people milled about daily business as they carried around water, food, animals, and various other tools and supplies.

"He's made a camp," Halt murmured thoughtfully.

A tall, slender figure stepped outside the tent. Dark hair and eyes clouded his otherwise handsome features. His eyes showed cold and hate, his pale skin rippling with some sort of fury. A servant approached him, offering a sword of plain structure. The man took one glance at it and struck the villager, sending him sprawling. The dark-eyed man, Jonathan Lark, spat and cursed violently at the crumpled form beneath him.

"An unpleasant little monster, isn't he?" Horace's brow furrowed as he watched.

Jonathan suddenly stopped in his cursing, and looked around. He stopped and stared right at the view from which the stone was showing, his eyes narrowing. It was almost as if...

As if he were looking straight at them.

* * *

***I have no idea how a scabbard/belt works. **

Hey! Okay, all things aside, I HATED this chapter. To me, it seemed quite bland. But, it was necessary. Action happens in this story, Trust me! Not the next chapter, but the chapter after! PLEASE hang on till then, I wanna write some fun stuff as much as you wanna read it. Okay, from now on, I'm gonna try to do all the chapters I can, but I really want to write other stuff, because this is really my only story. I have bunches of ideas for some little stories, one or two chapters, and I can't write as often as I'd like to. So, if I upload some other stories, it'd be nice if you guys could check those out sometime.

**COMMENT QUESTION: Favorite movie?** Also, please rate and REVIEW as much as you can, cause every time I read them I just get all bubbly on the inside.

-Tempest Lullaby


	13. The Gathering

Okay, can I say one thing? The RA Fanfiction page is like, cluttered with "Only female Ranger stuff". I've never read them, so i can't judge on the quality or anything, but why make another if there are already so many? I don't mean to offend if you are one of the authors of these, it just confuses me a bit when i see so many. Like, if you were walking down the street and all of a sudden see a piglet strutting around. At first its kinda cool, but then you see like seventy and it starts to get annoying.

But that's just me. If you like them or make them, then sorry, I've just noticed.

So anyways. Heres some Villainary schtuff for you.

* * *

Jonathan Lark pulled his hand back to his side as he watched the crumpled servant beneath him. The frail man nursed his reddening cheek, and scampered away hastily.

Jonathan curled his lip in disgust. _He dares to defy me? _He opened his mouth to call for one of his workers, when he felt...something. He couldn't quite place it, he merely felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going into defensive mode.

He felt the familiar tingle of being scryed.

Glancing around, Jonathan found a small patch of wavering, hazy air to his left. The shrub where it was near was being diffracted and shooken, just to the tiniest degree. His amulet glowed briefly as he uttered a spell, and the small patch of wavy light seemed to open like a window.

A girl, around thirteen or fourteen, stood among three men. They carried dangerous weapons and held themselves as though they knew how to use them. Jonathan turned and saw them clearly, and noted how young three of them were. Inwardly, he smirked. Taking a mental picture of what he saw, he narrowed his eyes at the floating image, which shook violently then faded, leaving only the shrub that was behind it.

Placing two fingers to his lips, he whistled loud and shrill. In a moment's time, three large men stood before him, awaiting orders.

"There is a small party that is tracking me, along one of the back roads leading to this fief. It consists of two young men, an slightly old man, and a very young girl. She wears the rune of my enemy, a gold-encrusted gemstone on a chain. She has long, dark blonde hair, brown eyes, average height. The men have brown hair, brown eyes, and two of them are shorter than one rather large warior. They wear simple clothes, but the girl wears some outlandish form of tunic."

One of the men opened his mouth to ask a question, then stopped as Jonathan answered.

"Kill all of them."

With a wave of his hand, Jonathan sent the men away to their mission. They left quickly, but with the slightest of hesitations. Jonathan noted this and cursed silently. It was inevitable, he thought. The signs were all too clear. The villagers were starting slack in their work, wondering why they must toil for an unknown man. One or two of his "followers" had already left.

He was losing his hold over them.

The hypnotism was fading, and he was exhausted more and more everyday with the task of keeping them. His footing stumbled clumsily, and he looked around for something to rest himself on. He sank gratefully onto a tree stump, head resting heavily in calloused hands. The dark soul felt an ache deep in the pit of his belly as his head pulsed with an unbridled sort of fury. He whistled loudly, much to his cranium's aches in protest. Two servant girls appeared within the next few minutes. Usually, Jonathan noted, they were there in a few short seconds.

"Girls. Fetch me water, and a platter of food. I don't care what kind, just go. Now." He added the last note as more of a forceful afterthought.

One of them, lankily built and with long feet, yawned. "Why? We both must help clean the stables in a few moments. Can't you fetch some on your own?" She met his eyes without fear or concern.

Jonathan was taken aback, but did not show it. Did she really just look him dead in the eye? What happened to the fear felt from most servants?

His fingernails dug into his cheeks. "Look, girl," he growled in a low tone. "if you do not go fetch me what I desire this instant, then so help me I will fetch that gardening rake and drag it across your ugly little face." He gestured to a rake leaning casually by the tent, and narrowed his eyes at the insolent servant.

The girl put up her hands fearfully. "Alright! We'll do it now. My _God_." She turned with the other girl and started off toward the cooking tent. Before she turned, however, Jonathan heard her say that last sentence and roll her eyes.

He seethed with rage. He wished to clobber that girl with both hands; to claw out the eyes and hair of those who questioned or defied him. He grinded yellow teeth furiously, eyes closed and brow scrunched with frustration.

With one sighing breath, he stopped his inner tantrum. He had to be calm, he knew, if he were ever going to win over this village, and many other followers, and the only way to do that was with words. He cleared his throat. Of course, he could persuade them to do anything with a good voice and personality.

Against his will, he begrudgingly came to the fact that he had to be…_nice_ to this group of bottom-feeding, repulsive, primitive cretin.

He was pondering if it was better to rule by fear than by word, when the servers returned. One held a pail of clear water, probably dirtier than it looked. The girl who had mouthed off to him before held a platter of all sorts of foods: dried fruit, sliced vegetables, roasted lamb, and a few fresh slices of soft, white bread.

"Here's your meal, _sir_," she said mockingly as she handed Jonathan the platter. Briefly, he fantasized about how it would feel to slice the girl's head clean off her shoulders. He put the image aside and looked the girl in the eyes, already feeling his stomach churn at his next few words.

"Thank...you...Misses." He said with difficulty through his teeth. His mouth twisted upward in one awkward, jerking motion, in what vaguely resembled a smile.

The girls stared at his strange expression for a moment, then decided it best to leave him to his own devices. They bowed, and walked away fast as they could without looking as though they were frightened.

Jonathan dismissed the expression, and began wolfing down his food with an animal-like hunger.

* * *

The gathering was announced around noon the followday after the next, with a large feast prepared for all. A large lamb baked in a stone oven near the middle of the camp, the few chefs occaisionally picking away rocks and tossing in a variety of herbs and juices onto the well-baked animal. Many eager villagers loitered around the cobble structure with eager mouths and empty bellies.

It was on eof those days where it was uncomfortably warm in the sun, yet chilly enough in the shade to create goosebumps on one's arms. The population of the camp seemed not to notice, and instead busied themselves chomping on the sweet, flaky pastries that was the Chef's specialty, all the while dancing and whooping to the loud music of a large group of minstrels.

All in all, the camp was alive with mirth.

As the musicians strummed the last chord of their song, the gathered crowd clapping enthusiastically. The inhabitants of the camp, and several hundred villagers from neighboring towns, waited with loud, excited chatter as the band exited the stage. Jonathan Lark strutted onto the stage and placed himself behind an oak podium. The crowd was hushed within the next minute, and soon the only sounds heard was the _fwoooooh _of the wind against the treetops.

Jonathan, having practiced an authentic smile for hours in his tent, beamed at the particularly large body of simple folk in front of him. As he opened his mouth to warmly adress the crowd, a lagre bodyguard next him belched long and loud, the burp echoing across the people and through the trees.

Jonathan looked to the man, swearing to beat him later for this humiliation, and loudly pronounced, "Enjoying the food, eh?" To his relief, the crowd roared with laughter and the mood lightened.

Alright, so maybe he _wouldn't_ beat him that badly.

Jonathan held up a hand, and quieted the chuckles. "My people," He addressed. "It's an honor to see all of your faces her today. Though the gathering was on short notice, it seems you all have had a good time this afternoon." He nodded at the crowd, then his smile faded.

"Unfortunately, though, days like these only seem to come once a year, on festivals like harvest day. But then, most of you aren't able to join the celebration, now do you?" He tried to connect with the crowd best he could. "While the King sits about in his ivory tower, declaring that everyone can simply just, 'Relax' on that day, what do many of you do? There's still animals to feed, chickens to slaughter, land to till, weeds to pull, children to watch, food to cook; and your king just asks you to 'Relax'? Tell me, do any of you even get to anjoy the festivities?" He hoped his example worked.

Fortunately for him, it did. The statement put many villagers at relative unease, and they talked uncertainly amongst themselves.

"When has this king listened to your personal needs, hmm? All of you good, simple folk toil under the hot sun and blistering heat day after day, and hardly get a penny for a week's work! The crops that you produce, you must give up nearly all to provide for the rest of the village! The clothes that you sew, the herbs you collect, the food you bake: you must sell to make a living and get nearly nothing in return! Nothing ever comes out of this poor, humble, dirty, sweaty, back-breaking, tooth-gnawing, skin-blistering life you live!"

This time, the crowd seemed to roar in response.

"And who's fault is this, I ask? Who has set the social class for you so low that you and only you must work to death in these fields?"

"The King!" came the roaring response.

"Who was that, again?" Jonathan put a hand to his ear, as if he couldn't hear well.

"THE KING!" The crowd screamed louder this time.

"And who will lead you all to a life of ease, where this King is no longer ruling?"

"YOU WILL!" The crowd then burst into a fit of unintelligible shouting, pumping fists and screaming praise to the young man at the podium.

Unheard by the rest, Jonathan sighed in relief. No, his story about the troubled lives of these folk was hard to believe, and yes, most would argue that King Duncan was a kind and sensible man; but these folks had been under his spell to begin with and seemed like they would carry on without it now.

For the first time since he inhabited the human body, Jonathan smiled a genuine smile. A twisted, evil smile full of malice and sick pleasure, but a real smile nonetheless.

* * *

* * *

Hey so yeah sorry about my lack of updates. I've been trying to work on a real project now that doesn't meddle in the realm of fanfiction, because I've found someone who's actually serious about publishing my work. Though updates may be slim, I promise that I've never forgotten nor will forget about this story and you guys.

My favorite movie? The Social Network.

Please remember to Review and Rate and all, because I get so happy whenever I see you guys fill up my inbox!

With love and kisses and low fat non-sugar chocolate meringue cookies,

-Tempest


	14. The Ride

So hey. Yeah, I know, I haven't updated in a couple months. Sorry, guys, I've felt really bad about it lately and decided to stop procrastinating.

I was so shocked that, with a squeal and small flail of my arms, I dropped the shimmery stone. The image wavered and popped, then slowly faded away until nothing but the reflection of my feet was seen in the shiny stone.

"Does he know where we are? Is he coming after us? Did he see us?" My mouth exploded into questions before I could really take hold of the situation. It wasn't until Will was slowly explaining that I realized he knew as much as I.

"Emilie, I have no idea. My guess is that he doesn't want to risk his life by seeking us out, so he may send some of his allies to find us instead. That is, if he did see us." His tone was calming, as if he was speaking to frightened child.

Oh, wait, he actually _was_ speaking to a frightened child.

"What do we do?" I gulped as I waited for the possible answers. Find them before they find us, disable them, rob them, kill them?

"As of now, we continue following the map. We don't know if he's actually seen us or not, or if he's going to send thugs after us. I'm not sure what threat he would see in a little girl, but I am not him. Besides, I don't see logic in wasting the day hiding or preparing for something that may not happen." Halt was already saddling his horse as he spoke. "Come on, we're wasting sunlight as it is."

"Okay," I murmured, and awkwardly began to mount Willow. I've ridden larger horses before, but not consistently enough to remember how to remember how to do it properly. My foot fumbled as it tried to hold onto the stirrup, and I could hardly swing my leg over the light brown leather saddle.

"Do you need help?" Horace asked, watching my movements with skepticism.

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine." I said quickly, and with a _humph!_ I brought my leg over the saddle and settled on the hard-tanned leather. Grabbing hold of the reins with one hand and the pommel with the other, I nudged my toes into Willow's ribs. He snorted and began to trot forward onto the beaten path.

As we began to settle into a row of four, I found myself on the far right of the path, Horace to my left. Combined with his formidable height and the strong, long-legged battle horse, he towered over me as we rode on. I eyed the brown horse's bulging muscles, and his tough black hooves. It was the type of horse I would never, ever voluntarily go near, much less ride on.

Horace saw me eyeing Kicker, and smirked. "A big one, isn't he?" I snapped out of my thoughts, and looked up to the warrior. "What was that?"

"My horse. Compared to you and Willow, Kicker must seem huge."

I nodded. "Yeah. He's really intimidating. But I'm glad I have a pony to ride instead of that." At my word _pony_, the three small horses began to whinny and shake their manes. Surprised, I started to stroke Willow's coarse mane. "Hey! Hey there, It's okay. Shush." At my words, the horse seemed to reluctantly stop his noises of protest. I addressed the rest of our group: "Why did they react like that? Did I say some command or something?"

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Usually, if you were to call these horses _ponies_, they would buck you off then and there. They're bred to be as agile and sturdy as possible, so they are small in size and stature. Even though they look inferior to horses like Kicker, they can run for hours upon hours without even halting."

I looked upon my small gray horse with surprise. "Wow, really? I thought that the larger horses were saved for more important occasions or something, and that we've been riding pack mules."

Will chuckled as Tug whinnied again, and the look in that horse's eye said, _Silly child. _

As the day began to wane and the sky turned from blue to orange to pink, Will decided that we best camp for the night. We settled down in a field surrounded by a couple withered trees and large rocks. The camp was assembled in mere minutes; nothing much to be done but roll out our bedrolls and strike a fire. The night was hot, the air sticky and still. I sat on one of the rocks, listening to the conversation of the older men with mild amusement. Though I had very little input in the conversation, It seems like my companions were growing more accustomed to having a child on one of their journeys.

From what I knew about the books, these were the three finest adventurers of the land. They fought mythical beasts, traveled seas, escaped slavery, and had even participated in a war or two. In the first book of the series, it seemed that Will had been a slight, scrawny underdog who happened to have some arrows and fire with him at just the right moment. He was witty, but not too responsible. Apparently, allot had changed through the books I didn't read. Halt, apparently, was married, and Horace seemed to be romantically involved with the princess. (When did a princess even _come in_ to the story?)

As I thought of the three heroic figures and kicked about a pebble, Halt cleared his throat. I looked up lazily to meet his wolfish gaze. Why was he starting at my midriff so intensely?

As I looked down, I realized he was not looking at my torso, but the sheathed sword that lie across my legs near it.

"What?" I asked hesitantly, my hand unintentionally moving to rest on the covered blade.

"Are you sure you even know how to use that?" Critically, he looked up to my brown eyes.

"Uh...Yes? I think." Suddenly, I felt like I couldn't really meet his stare any longer.

"You think?" One bushy gray eyebrow shot upward. Wasn't that supposed to be his way of smiling? It felt too intimidating to be a smile in disguise. In return, I said nothing.

He sunk lower in his seat on a large rock as if it were a cushy loveseat. With one hand, he directed Horace to get on his feet and for me to do the same. "Up, you two. If you are to travel with us, Emilie, you need to know how to defend yourself. Horace, pick up your oversized butter knife, will you? That's a boy. Now you two meet in that little circle opposite the fire pit."

I did s I was told, hesitantly stepping over to where Horace waited.

"Horace, show Emilie a few simple swipes and see if she can follow along." This time it was Will instructing us, moving closer to our sparring spot and folding his arms.

Horace nodded. I looked at the tall warrior, taking in his large muscles and the way he held his sword light as a twig. I was sure he could quash me in an instant, and I gulped loudly. No school anywhere could've prepared anyone for a moment like this, much less a lanky girl who had lived a relatively sheltered life.

Will smiled breezily. "Easy, Emilie. Horace won't eat you, though he sure has the appetite for it. We just want to assess how much you know and what you need to learn."

"If you know the basics, it's really quite easier than it seems. Just patience, timing, and strength are all it actually takes." Horace rolled his wrists around, swinging his sword artistically.

I blew a breath out through my pursed lips. "O-okay." Readying my sword, I unsheathed it and balanced the long, elegant blade in my right hand. Thank the lord it was lightweight; otherwise I don't think I could handle anything heavier.

Horace raised his sword. "I'm going to give a light blow. React how you think you should." lightly, he brought his sword down in a slash. I brought my sword up to block it, and there was a slight _tink!_ of metal as our weapons touched.

Will seemed pleased. "Good. Let's try a few other moves." At his words, Horace began to slowly move his sword certain directions at certain speeds; an uppercut, a slow swipe by my feet, another slash, a thrust: all of which I instinctively responded correctly to.

Will nodded, examining every light cut and swipe. "Excellent. You seem to know enough to get by." He cleared his throat and looked directly to Horace. "Pick up the pace, shall we?"

Suddenly, Horace came with a cut to my left, swift and heavy. I lifted my sword in time to meet his, but my blade was knocked clean out of my hand.

"Owwwowowwwwouchhh!" I howled, exaggerating my pain by shaking the wrist that had been hurt. I flexed my fingers and rolled my right wrist, trying to escape the blunt pain.

Halt, from across the fire pit, seemed to be trying to hide a smile. "Pick up your weapon and start again," His eyes glinted with amusement.

My brow furrowed. "No! It hurts!"

Halt's eyebrow shot up again. "Pick up your weapon, practice, and soon you'll forget all about your pain. Maybe you'll learn how to efficiently block a move by morning."

I remembered the distrust I had in Halt only a day or two previously. Suddenly, he seemed more like an annoying father than a real threat.

Already tired and more than slightly peeved, I retrieved my sword and took my stance once again.

Will didn't try to hide his smile. "Ready?" he asked when I resumed my pose. I nodded curtly, staring intently at the monster of a sword Horace held deftly. "Begin."

This time, I was prepared for a heavy hit, but I still didn't expect the full impact of the blow. It was a stab, directly poised to slice clean through my heart. I sliced with the right amount of effort and force, and successfully countered his move. For a hundredth of a second, a small light of triumph fluttered In my chest.

Nothing good ever lasts long. Before I knew it, he was after me again, this time with an uppercut. I parried the cut and moved quickly to the right to maybe get a swing of my own in. He seemed to be expecting it. I came in with a quick slice on his side, but he had already had his sword up to counter it before it could come close. The impact of his sword to mine jarred my wrist and buckled my knees, but I held steady, hardly.

Another thrust. This time, I simply evaded it and took one of my own, aiming for his midsection. He didn't seem to be expecting that one, but managed to sidestep and swing back. I grew more peeved. Taking a little hop to try and get some height, I went in with a fast downward cut, a slice straight down his being. Horace held steady and countered my blow with a mighty swing of his arm that would make most heavyweight lodgers jealous. My sword, so light, was easily torn from my grip and sent spiraling off somewhere else. I gulped, stumbled, and fell to the hard-packed soil. Horace, broadswords shimmering in the nearby light of the campfire, poised his sword at my throat and grinned.

"Did you really think you were going to best a warrior?" He seemed without the slyness and smarminess that the other men possessed, but still amused nonetheless.

Gingerly, I pushed his sword put of my proximity. "No," I finished helplessly.

WELP GUESS WHAT. I learned that I could write this from my iPod. Guess whose life just got ten times easier? ME!

Okay so I met a kid whose name was Silas last week and saw him again yesterday, and I was just like, "Hey, kid...You've got the coolest name ever." And he was all, "Yeah. I know." Doesn't seem very interesting to you, but the teeniest things excite me so it was pretty nice.

So, I need you guys to review. I mean, I literally rely on those reviews. Every one of them makes me feel so very good about myself, that you guys take the time to tell me nice things! Aaaaaand I've yet to receive ONE hater message yet, so let's try to keep it that way.

Stay fabulous.


	15. The Attack

Two.  
That was the number of days that had passed since the Scry. Two.  
Which means, if there were twenty-four hours in a day, it would've been forty-eight hours. Sixty minutes in an hour. Sixty times forty-eight...six times forty-eight is 288, so add a zero and that's 2,880. 2,880 minutes since the Scry.  
And 2,880 divided by four is...what, 720? That sounded right. 720, about the number of kids in Emilie's school.  
There are three grades in Emilie's school, so if 720 was the number of children in the school, and if each grade had the same number of students, each grade would have...would have...  
240. That's the number. Was it? Yes! No...  
_Forget this_, Emilie thought as she ran a dirty hand through greasy blonde hair. She regretted it almost immediately. Sweat and filth combined to form a thick, gruel-like residue on her already sticky palm. Emilie wiped the hand on her equally grubby leggings, which only added to the grime stuck to her skin.  
The girl threw her arms up, defeated; then-as a force of habit-ran her hand through her hair.  
Earlier, she had been trying to keep her mind sharp by doing math inside her head. After she realized she couldn't get past simple division, she kept herself to the task with a stubby pencil and a spare scrap of paper. (Or was it parchment? She could never really tell.)  
It didn't matter. Her candle was hardly more than a puddle now, anyway. Angrily, she crumpled the paper and tossed it on the candle. The flame slowly ate at the paper, savoring the dry sheet with every crackle burn. Emilie looked to the sky and tried to figure the time by position of the moon. A day earlier, Will had seen how inept she was at _everything_ that involved traveling, so he had taught her some survival basics. Don't eat this plant, stay away from the yellow flowers, it is impossible to chop down a tree with your sword so don't try it again, it doesn't matter if the tree is in your way or not, no those are not rabid boar tracks they are raccoon prints, for the love of god stop complaining, etc.

The time may have been around two A.M. If she was looking at the moon correctly. Should she twist her body this way, would that make a difference? Now the time looks like it's six A.M. No, wait, never mind. It's two...she thought.  
Her fingers slipped through her shaggy hair once more in annoyance and weariness, yet again staining her hand with that awful grime, which would no doubt leave a grease stain on her leggings if she chose to wipe them, which she did.

Emilie was really tired of not bathing. At least in the cool, early morning during her watch, she could feel at least a bit clean when she was not sweating during the day. She looked to the moon once more. In another hour she would have to wake Will, so he could take over the watch and she could get what precious few hours of sleep she could salvage.

A sigh. It's not the Quest that bored her, more so the hours upon hours that had to be filled doing seemingly useless things: checking tracks, searching maps, keeping watch, and riding and riding those darned horses.

Speaking of which, where was Willow, anyway?

Emilie slowly rose to her feet, hard leather boot slipping on the soft earth. She turned to where the horses were supposedly sleeping, and smiled slightly when she saw that, indeed, all was well.

The feeling didn't last for very long.

It was Tug who reacted first. A prick of the ear, a shiver along his backbone, a twitch of his left eye; he was awake and alert. Ever so softly, he blew a wet huff through his nose. Abelard and Willow's eyes flashed open immediately, intelligent pupils searching the scene for something off kilter. The searching was not in vain. A small snap was heard somewhere in the woods, and now their attention was drawn to that spot. It could've been a rabbit, but that hypothesis was not likely. Tug whinnied: softly, yet audibly. The next moment, two of the three men awoke soundlessly with no warning but the swift flick of eyelids.

Horace took a swift smack on the forehead to finally rouse, but when he did, he had enough experience with Rangers to know to hush up. In a strained silence, they listened for sounds past the rustle of wind on leaves and the sweet warbles of a lone nightingale. None drew breath, and none dare spoke for quite some time.

Emilie whispered eventually, "Maybe it's-"

"Shh!" Halt's crisp grew eyes didn't even waver as he shot out his hand to quell Emilie. She did as was told, hands hurriedly clasping her mouth for extra measure. Another snap, this one louder, rang through the campsite like a gunshot in the silence. A stick or log or _something _had been moved or stepped on, and a softer crunch through dead leaves soundly proved the theory. Emilie turned her small brown eyes onto Will, the question in them blatant as blood on snow. His head turned left to right, dry lips mouthing, _Not an animal_.

Horace's hand touched the sword that sat beside him. Will grasped his bow and slid on the tanned leather quiver, eying the knife belt that was in reach. Halt did the same, his face grim and expression steely. Emilie gripped the hilt of her sword, expecting the worst and not at all prepared for it.

With a _thrum!_ and a _whizz_, Will shot an arrow deep into the woods. Emilie's mind was bursting with questions at this point, and she about imploded when he shot the sleek wooden missile. The arrow fulfilled its purpose. "Wh-EEK!" the man screeched in a very un-manly way. Their cover blown, whoever had been hiding in the forest decided it was now or never.

At first, about eight men tumbled out of the woods, wielding axes and cudgels and maces. Thankfully for the travelers, the attackers were clumsy with the chosen weaponry. Despite the fact, it didn't mean that they wouldn't try to fulfill their duties as hard-headed brutes. The men let out what was perhaps a pre-rehearsed battle cry, and ran full speed at the small party of cunning Rangers, a courageous knight, and a naive teenager.

The first three were out in the blink of an eye, from what Emilie saw. She may or may not have witnessed Will and Halt sling an arrow, or Halt sending his dagger spinning through scattered strips of moonlight, but the next thing she knew three previously brash men now reconsidered their lifestyles as they lay sprawled on the earth. Upon grunts of pain as they gingerly prodded the arrows protruding from their legs, the acrid scent of blood pierced through the crisp early-morning air. Emilie's nose wrinkled and she pulled out her sword. Hopefully, she would fend for herself well when she used it. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to.

A huff and a thump, and Horace had effortlessly taken down two more of the attackers, sword held lightly in both hands. _Okay,_ she thought. _Hold it lightly._ Emilie's vice-like grip on the hilt loosened tremendously, easing the strain on her wrist and nerves. Because she had been behind the men whilst they slept, she was now watching the action from afar. None of the men had reached her because of the skill of her protectors, and for that she was deeply grateful. This could be a chance to show off what little skill she had, maybe; but she valued her life over trying to show off or prove her swordsmanship. Her eyes darted from man to man, remarking how precision and thought win over brute strength and blind swings.

She heard resounding thuds behind her and, to her shock, whirled to find two men had appeared form the patch of wood facing her back. The few days of training she'd had and natural instinct swirled through her mind dizzily as she soon found herself face-to-face with an ugly, built man. He carried a club, which was fortunate for her, but she knew she had little time to thank the lord before the other attacker caught up. Emilie, with her mightiest swing, sliced at the club just as it came her way. The sword hit home and knocked the club clean out of Ugly's hands. Emilie cheered for herself in her mind, until an unexpected weight brought her sword tot he ground, pulling her arms with it. The sword hadn't passed clean through the club, as she'd first expected, but had embedded itself halfway into the club.

No time to look crestfallen. Ugly reached out to crush Emilie's arm in his mighty paw, until she flipped the sword and swung it up, club striking the man under the chin and hopefully breaking his jaw. Emilie was pleased when Ugly fell to the earth and did not stir. Quickly, she put a foot on the club and wrenched her blade free of the crude weapon before facing her next opponent, making a silent vow to sharpen her sword if she survived this. The new man, with a drooping, tasseled beard, lunged for the girl instead of pulling his knife. This caught Emilie off guard, and soon Beardy had the girl in a fierce chokehold. Her eyes bulged, her airway closed, and her now-long fingernails dug into his muscle-bound, hairy arm. She kicked behind her, trying to perhaps take out Beardy's knee. When that failed, she aimed higher, nailing him square in the crotch. He spluttered, loosening his grip just enough for Emilie to slip her head through his arms. Before she could crawl free, however, his meaty hand had tangled itself in her hair, pulling it tight so every follicle screamed for mercy. Beardy's free hand slipped at his knife scabbard when Emilie thrashed about, and he dropped his jagged, serraded knife. In an instant, Emilie had it in her grip and was trying to slice him from her current point on the ground. He jerked her up by the hair as to obtain his knife, but Emilie had already made her move.

The knife sliced through her tight-pulled hair easier than expected.

She was free, and that was all that mattered then. That, and that she stick the knife as deep into Beardy's thigh as her strength allowed; which she did without a second thought. He hollered and fell, and Emilie was surprised at how little he bled, the knife blocking most of the blood flow. She then realized that silence had fallen over the campsite, and she turned toward her comrades to see the behinds of two men as they fled the sight. At least fifteen groaning, injured men lay about her three protectors, if not more. Will looked from his many fallen foes, to the couple of men that sprawled near Emilie.

"Well, I see you got two."

Hey, guess who's a hyppocriteHERE'S A HINT IT'S ME. I mean, it's been like two months since I updated! I'm a jerk. But, now that I get in the swing of writing once more, I remember how fun this is! Aaaand I know EXACTLY how the next chapter will play out so it'll be pretty easy to write that one. I think it'll be a long one. This one was a tad short, but it's got more action than the whole other fourteen chapters combined so be happy.

**Please Review.** You guys have no IDEA how it feels to get good, positive feedback from people I've never met, so therefore have no reason to impress me so I know it's genuine, as an author! I love you guys, and it fills me with good, ol' fashioned joy whenever I see that you guys like what I write. Heh, I feel like I'm on one of those Anti-Drug school movies: "Writing and getting good feedback is MY natural high, kids!"

Till next time,

-Tempest


	16. The Deeds Done

Writing with a manicure? Hardest thing in the world.

I didn't quite process Will's comment at first. Almost subconsciously, my hand lifted dumbly from where it was poised at my side, to the freshly chopped hairs on the back of my head. My hair wasn't thin, so there was plenty of proof that I had just severed most of my favorite thing about me. Cold fingertips brushed softly against the feather-like ends, clammy palm following in suit. I looked to the ground, where a trail of blonde curls slowly gathered dust, dirt. The trail led to a haggard-looking man, unconscious and injured. His whole jaw had swollen blue and purple, puffy chin meeting split lips in a mesh of blood and bruise. Another man, this one conscious, half-lied on the earth and propped himself up on one elbow. Little puddles of blood surrounded him, and he was clutching his lower leg like it hurt plenty. Something protruded from it...

A jagged, serrated, bloodstained knife.

With a silent gasp and eyes blown huge with horror, I turned over my palm to see it covered in blood. His blood. Blood that now was probably on the back of my head on my short, shaggy hair. With another, more audible gasp, I realized that it was I who had broken the man's jaw, and left him unconscious; it was also I who had stabbed this man in the leg, so deep. I recalled the small bursts of triumph and pleasure I had felt as I split bone and muscle, spilled blood and pain.

Turning toward my companions, who watched my hushed reaction with intrigue, I began to shake. If I had anything in my hands, it would've dropped moments ago. My shoulders were raised almost to my ears, my hands held out in front of my eyes. They looked like they belonged to someone else. I looked from the unknown hands to the three men, my eyes still wide as dinner plates.

I didn't scream like I have before, nor did I immediately throw a fit; to my surprise, I didn't shed one tear. I began to hyperventilate.

My lungs felt like someone had grabbed the two and squeezed harshly, crushing the air out of them. I sucked in oxygen desperately, and again, and again, not able to get enough air for my empty lungs. I was sweating, but I hardly felt it as the cool drips slid down my forehead and into my eyes. I closed my eyes to ward off the sights I saw and the sweat which fell. I would not stop thinking about the two men sprawled by me. The purpled flesh, the snapped bone, the bloody knife- the knife which I plunged into his leg. So deep into his leg!

I couldn't stand for much longer. The nearness of my victims overwhelmed me; the harshness of my actions sickened me. Still gasping for life and air for all I was worth, I stumbled on numb legs and eventually gave myself up to my feeble limbs and gravity. I plummeted for the ground with my face buried in my sweaty, trembling palms. I think my escorts shouted something, but I can't really be sure. The next thing I know I was caught by warm, strong arms and not the grass and dirt. My face was buried in his green tunic. Though I was safe, my mind hadn't registered and kept sending the message _More air, more air_! Consequently, I continued to respond by breathing, breathing, breathing. My throat continued to close as if I was going to barf, my seemingly flattened lungs shrinking flatter and flatter by the second.

Soon I was hefted up into the arms, wrapped in a cloak and cradled like an infant, which I felt like that moment. An infant, swaddled in someone's mottled gray-and-green cloak, unsure of what to do or what to say. So nothing was said, only quick breathing and a constant _Shh, Shh_ from whoever carried me. My head grew light, like a balloon, and I was afraid I may take flight with my head so full of hot air! I don't remember how long it took, but I finally gave into hyperventilation and light-headedness, and blacked out.

"Emilie. Get up," a gentle voice prodded, and my eyes flashed open so quick my temples pulsed angrily in protest. I felt nauseous, my throat closed up, and I hopped clumsily off the horse I was apparently slung over. Bending over on my knees and throwing my hands over my stomach, I retched in the grass. My stomach sloshed, seemingly filled with a burning acid that ate away at my insides. I threw up once more.

Wiping my mouth off on my arm, I stood straight, more or less. I turned to face a seemingly concerned Will, his face twisted in what looked like understanding and pity. I said nothing, only joined his side and walked to wherever it was he was heading. A large inn stood but a few hundred feet from my retching position, but the only lights on were dimmed and in the small lobby. We continued toward the Inn and continued to say nothing. My stomach was settling somewhat, but I knew it would be hours, if not days when my mind and soul began to settle once more.

The Inn was all I had expected it would be: warm but not stuffy, fragrances of dinner still lingering in the lobby, and simple compared to most hotels I had ever stayed at. Only one woman sat at the front counter, reading a leather-bound volume of some sort. She didn't seem to be too engrossed in her reading, for she snapped up at once the moment we quietly stepped through the splintery wooden door.

"Two rooms, please," Will said with small smile as we approached the woman. She nodded and smiled politely back at Will as they exchanged silver coins and discussed prices, the only sounds in the otherwise silent Inn during the otherwise silent night. She began up a rickety staircase to our rooms, which seemed like it could barely withstand the weight of us three. But, to my mild surprise, it did without the slightest squeal or moan in protest. The front desk woman stopped at a certain floor, holding a lantern out to our room's numbers, painted in shimmery green on the doors. Happily, she gave Will a pair of keys from a pocket in her skirts.

"Have a nice rest," she whispered pleasantly, and began to turn away- until her eyes fell upon me. I didn't realize how pitiful I must've looked until she acknowledged me for the first time. Shaggy hair in muddy plaits, coated in a layer of grime, sweat-soaked and bloodstained, hardly standing on my wobbly legs. I'm sure my eyes were red-rimmed and two tears lines streaking from my eyes, down my thin cheeks and chin. "Oh," she breathed, small hand fluttering to her dainty pink mouth. "Oh, you poor dear." Promptly snatching my filthy hand and a pair of keys from Will, she unlocked my room and gently propelled me inside. She shut the door, thus separating me from my protector and the only sense of security I had left.

She led me to a small washroom, where a stone bathtub awaited me. A strange, interesting pulley system went through the floor and down somewhere on the main floor. A bucket and bell attached to the rope, further confusing me. "I'll draw you a bath, dearie. You just wait in here for a few moments." Before I could reply, she pulled on the rope and sent both bucket and bell shooting down. I heard the bell faintly jingle somewhere, but what its purpose was, I had no idea. The bucket soon thrust back up the pulley, filled with steaming water. The Inn Lady threw the boiling water into the cold, stone tub nearby, and then shot the bucket back down. My brow was furrowed and my jaw hung slightly ajar.

She smiled. "The cooks are still awake, thank heavens. We keep hot water at hand there, in case something happens and we need it. They hear the bell as it goes down, then send the bucketful of water up, and the process repeats until the tub is full, or we simply don't need any more."

I nodded. She frowned.

"Child, what happened? You seem so...frail. Scared. Maybe you were like this before, but something tells me this isn't the case." She scooped the last bucket of water into the tub and came to my side. For a moment, I considered telling her everything. Everything that had happened from the day I fell into this strange, unfamiliar world. How frightened I had been, how alone I felt, how dirty I was- inside and out, how it shocked and repulsed me that I had single-handedly reduced two men to nothing at my feet, and how I was pleased I had seemed to do it, too. She reminded me so much of my mother; Not thin yet not large, not old but not young, her hair not too brown but not so much red, either. Her eyes, her caring, sweet eyes that were soft and that were there. For that one, beautiful, splendid moment we were both silent as I knew I finally had someone to console in.

A moment later, I spoke. "I've been travelling for awhile, and this is unknown land to me. It rained the other day, and I fell off my horse and into a mud puddle, so that's why I'm so dirty. It's nothing really; you don't have to worry about me." I seemed to disappoint her and myself in the same few sentences. She knew that wasn't all, and I was far too bone-weary and filthy for just some mud puddle. My tongue grew heavy with words unspoken, and I clenched my teeth down upon it to keep it in.

"If that's all, then," she murmured, and left the room; a squeeze on my shoulder her final goodbye. Once she closed the door, I found a towel and a honey-smelling bar of soap by the tub. Haggard, grimy, and silent, I undressed and slipped into the bath.

The bath was the single most relaxing and rewarding thing I have ever received. When I dried off and stepped back into my room, I found a pair of clothes folded neatly on my bed. A sheet of parchment was pinned nicely at the top, with some fancy script decorating the page.

_A new pair of clothes for you. They'll help you fit in more. Also, something clean may be a change for the better. -S _

I thanked Silas a million times over in my head, and simply put the clothes to my face and inhaled. They smelled of fresh linen and sweet flowers, a warm and inviting scent that fills the being. For the first time in the past few days, I wasn't in any hurry to do anything, so I took my time to dress and look at myself in the large mirror over the dark, oaken dresser.

Green, leather-reinforced tunic. Brown, leather-reinforced leggings. Just a step above what the village folk here wore. It wasn't so much the clothes that caught my eye, as my face. For once, I didn't have on any makeup, and I wasn't sure how long it had been since I looked like this. My face seemed pale with no added color to my cheeks or eyelids. The little freckles that I had on my chin had re-appeared, the little freckles that I hated. My brown eyes looked huge, though, against my thin little face. They didn't seem to be as special as I always thought they were, what with my eyeliner and mascara making them pop so much. My nose seemed slightly shiny.

The blonde hair that I loved so much had been severed, ultimately adding to the strange image I saw of myself. It looked very, very short and ugly. It stopped just an inch under my earlobe and grew shorter and shorter as it reached the back. Finally, I looked at myself as a whole. Since I was still a kid, my body wasn't voluptuous or curvy, and my facial features weren't at their full growth, so people would have a hard time telling my gender if I didn't speak to them. I was just a girl, plain and simple. No more, no less to anyone who saw me.

A flashback from earlier in the year hit me, one that I had completely forgot about. It was at school, and I was with my friends in the hallway between classes. I brushed my hair with my compact brush and mirror in my locker, Jessica fought for the mirror so she could apply her foundation. Maddie talked to Tristan, Ashley was mad at Danny, and Stacie was sulking from her last breakup. Another same old day at the same old school. Until a group of girls walked by us. They weren't pretty, dressed like they had picked out their clothes in the dark, and weren't really the most comfortable weight. Naturally, we picked on them. I was kind of the leader in the whole thing, and produced some verbal lashes that ranked pretty high on my insult meter. They ran off, I got a couple of high-fives for my words, and life returned to normal.

Later that day, I was in the bathroom during class, more so there out of boredom than anything else. Angela Putesco, One of those girls walked out of a stall and washed her hands, and I gave a little laugh and a roll of my eyes. I guess that had been the last straw to her. Angela marched right up to me, fury clear in her eyes. "What's your problem, Emilie? You think you're better than me, just because of the clothes you wear, and the makeup you put on? All your friends act exactly the same as you do. Well let me tell you this: you can make whatever friends you like, apply whatever makeup you want, buy whatever clothes you choose, it doesn't matter. Deep down, behind all the plastic and perfume, you're just a girl. Exactly the same as me. That's why you pick on me. Because you know that without your fake friends by your side, you and I are two of a kind. Hating on me just makes you feel like you actually have some sort of importance." Her words flew so fast and hit me so hard, I didn't have any time to reply as she stepped out of the bathroom.

I looked into the mirror, and saw exactly what she had seen in me: a girl. A pale, lonely, scared, quivering girl.

This was such a pain to write. I know, most of you are probably like, "EMILIE GET OVER YOURSELF NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU" but this is who she is, and she'll probably be over it by tomorrow morning. Probably.

So anyways, I recently got a new laptop! So, instead of being a responsible teen and stop writing at midnight, I can now be an irresponsible teen and write however late I want! Chapters will probably be faster now. I wish I could use this like a blog, so I could say when I go on vacation, how close I am to finishing, why I couldn't write this week, etc. So you guys wouldn't think I'm just ignoring you.

Okay, It's late, I'm tired and have to get up early to do stuff tomorrow. So, later.

-Tempest

(ALSO PLEASE **RATE AND REVIEW** I LOVE IT WHEN YOU DO THAT IT MAKES ME FEEL ALL HAPPY AND SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS AND SUCH)


	17. The Mortal Dreams

Just a thought: I saw Super 8 some weeks ago, and (While it was a GREAT movie) realized that Elle Fanning, who plays Alice, is exactly how I imagined Emilie to look. (But, y'know, with brown eyes and I guess shorter hair now that she chopped it off.)

With that in mind, let's get to it!

* * *

Jonathan Lark dreamt of things he guessed were normal to humans. He saw strange occurrences on a farm, a cow that produced wine instead of milk, a smoky-eyed woman who danced about his house, and many other odd fragments of a fractured life. He didn't ever remember dreaming before then, but since he had been a human for some time, he knew the full mortality would kick in someday. Along with his feeble strength, aching limbs and loss of magical power came dreams.

Most of them he couldn't tell where or why he was. He expected them to be something like real life, but in truth it was as if a person took a puzzle and fit it together all wrong. Why he dreamt of sultry ladies and alcohol cows, he did not know. What he did know was that his dreams were where he felt his safest, where he felt truly free. Around the villagers and peasants and those below him, he had to carry an air of importance while still interacting decently with the pitiful beings. Near his guards and the stronger villagers, it was vital to remain confident and precise, as if he knew he was stronger that all of them combined. Here, as he slept, he could let down all walls, break away from all falsities, and just be free to rest and keep well.

No servants to slap here. No attacks to plan here. No villagers to bark commands at here. Nothing but Jonathan, and Jonathan alone. The one thing he hated about dreaming, though, was that the real Jonathan Lark began to appear. Not the unforgiving, cruel being that inhabited this human shell, but the man who was once a poor farmer that lived in a humble cottage by the side of a wheat field. In his dreams, he acted more like the kind yet lonely man started to shine through this dark cloak of the demon.

It was in one of these dreams where he found a meadow. Soft, tall grasses blanketed the sandy earth in one lush green carpet. The day was waning, the sun just past the horizon of an evergreen forest. He didn't know how long he had been walking; only that he was tired and needed to stop soon. He chose the shade of a blossoming tree as his rest area, and seated himself on the ground with an audible sigh of relief. Jonathan leaned his head against the rough trunk and closed his eyes. It felt good to give his mind and body a break for a moment. He enjoyed this, this peaceful moment where all was well and right in his world.

A quiet, muffled sob broke through his period of peace. To his right sat a child, fair of skin and hair, who had her face buried in pale hands. She wore an all-white gown; stark in contrast to the blossoming stain of blood that steadily flowed from her left side. Her tears came silently save for a couple breaths that racked her shoulders and made her haunch. Jonathan couldn't help but stare at the girl.

"Why do you weep?" He questioned, looking at the blonde. "Is your injury painful as it looks?"

"It's not that," she sniffled, running a clean hand through very, very short blonde hair. "I don't think I may ever leave this place." The blood was now dripping from her garbs and trailing to the grassy ground.

"Why would you want to leave? It's beautiful here."

"Yes, it is, but I dearly miss my home. The pains from the injuries I have suffered are a fraction of what I feel in my heart. These mortal wounds may heal, but if I cannot be with those I love, then I will never _really _be well." She drew her knees up and hugged them close to her chest. Jonathan spotted another laceration on her right arm, blood spilling all the while.

He offered the girl a handkerchief from one of his pockets, which she accepted thankfully. She dabbed at her red, bloodshot eyes and didn't speak. "What stops you from returning to your home?"

"It is many worlds from this place. If I were to have one hundred horses, I could ride this whole land and not find it. If I had one hundred ships, I could travel the whole ocean and not arrive there. If I had a flying chariot that soared across the sky in a golden blur, I could search this whole earth and still not see a glimpse of home. But, there is one way I can go," she finished hesitantly.

"And what way is that?"

"No. I cannot say. You would think me awful."

"You can confide in me, I swear it. I will not breathe a word of harsh judgment or contempt."

"…You promise this?"

"I swear by the moon and stars."

"Alright, then." She drew a slow, deep breath to prepare herself. "I must kill."

Jonathan said nothing, only sat stark-still and listened to the girl. Somehow, this seemed familiar.

"It is the only way I can get home. I was sent to this earth to kill a dark entity that resides in human form. He builds an army as we speak, just waiting for the right moment to strike and take over this land as his own," she looked down now, and rubbed a few grains of sand between her soft fingers. "It would be such a shame," she murmured, "To have a land pristine as this burn and die under his hands."

It still sounded quite familiar to Jonathan. He pushed the thought away, wishing to attend to more important matters today, like the problems this innocent girl was facing. "Who has the power to summon you here for this task, and why you?"

The fair child smirked. "_Another_ entity, only this one pure and god-like. I'm not so sure why he chose me, but he said I was to be his successor since the day I was conceived. He needed me now, so he called upon me. The man just seemed…So unsure of himself, so insecure of his actions, that it was hard for me not to refuse him. I mean, this isn't even my world that I am to save! But he looked so desperate for a chance to prove he hadn't failed by choosing me, so eager to right his wrongs, that it was absolutely impossible to refuse the being.

"Besides," she continued, "I couldn't let a whole country or world perish simply because I would much rather not dirty my hands. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night, knowing that thousands of people, towns, and fiefs could be enslaved or killed, and I would be responsible for it all. I don't think I would be able to live with myself if I did that to those of this land."

Evil essence? God-like entity? Yes, this clearly rang familiar in Jonathan's subconscious. He wanted to push the nagging thought away and give the girl some reassurance, but no matter how hard he tried the feeling kept appearing. Trying to divert his attention to another subject, his eyes settled upon her oddly chopped blonde locks. "What happened to your hair?"

Watery brown eyes looked up to meet his almost black ones. She sniffled, then touched a palm to her shaggy, uneven hair. She sighed, and Jonathan noticed a familiar look of self-consciousness and sadness. "I had to cut it myself," she mumbled. "Some man tried to stab me, and to keep me still he grasped me by my hair. The only way I could think to get free was to cut it off; it all happened so fast that by the time it was over, I hadn't even realized what had happened." She twirled one of the longer locks around an index finger, eyes drooping to her bare feet. "It's funny. Before I came here, my hair was the thing I loved most about myself. People would tell me how long and pretty it is, and I would only take it in my stride. Others could just see my hair and face instead of me, and I was totally fine with that. Now that I have nearly no hair, and nothing to make my face look more attractive, it feels like I'm more myself here than I ever was at home."

"That doesn't seem funny at all."

"I know. I'm just trying to lighten the mood somewhat."

"What are you supposed to do now? Where are you heading this part of your journey?"

"Now, we follow the dark spirit that inhabits the human body. He seems to be building an army of followers. My companions say not to worry, that they've recently faced something like this, but still my mind wanders to the possibilities of failure." She turned a worried gaze toward Jonathan. "Do you think I'll be able to finish the journey, successfully?"

He gave a tiny smile. "I believe that, if you put your mind to it, you will be able to accomplish whatever task you wish. Be it destroying an evil entity, or making your way home."

She grinned in relief, and rested her head back against the thick, dark trunk. "It's nice to know I have one friend here, or at least someone who believes in me. The lack of motivation has been dreadful for me."

"Well, if you are ever in a time of need, remember that I believe you can reach your goal of saving this earth." He grinned along with her and leaned his head back, too. "By the way, who is the human this entity inhabits?"

She didn't falter. "His name is Jonathan Lark."

The dream shattered almost instantly, and Jonathan found himself under his sheets in the room he inhabited while they stayed at the encampment. Looking around frantically, he was relieved to see that the odd girl was nowhere to be seen. Who was that girl, and what significance did she have to anything? His dream began to blur now, and he could only remember bits and pieces of his conversation, much less anything about what the girl looked like. He remembered the phrase, "_We follow the dark spirit_."

They must be after him. It must be sign. Those men he sent to stop them must have failed. How could that be so? He chose some of the strongest men in the village, and still two boys, and old man and a brat defeated all of them? He underestimated them much more than he thought he could. He knew that group was a tough one, but to survive all those attackers? They must be fierce, well-trained. Smart.

He _loathed_ smart enemies.

No matter, he had not a minute to spare. Wrapping himself in a silver cloak, he stormed outside to meet a couple of his guards. "Be prepared," he stated curtly to the young men. They seemed confused as they strained to read Jonathan's face in the moonlight. "We leave in the morning. As soon as the sun climbs over the horizon, we must be off. All of us."

"Wait—why, sir?" The younger of the four piped up, hesitance crystal clear in his low voice.

"To attract more followers," Jonathan said simply. "We need to build up. We only have one village to lead, and that's not near enough if we want to overthrow the king." He began to tread back to his room, until a different voice spoke above the chatter of bugs and frogs.

"Where are we heading, sir?"

Without stopping his gait, Jonathan thought of the direction to Castle Araluen. "We head west."

* * *

Whoa! Got this one done in a period of 24 hours. New record? Probably not. But seeing that Elfpen is updating a story once a day, it kinda guilt-tripped me into writing this. It feels so great to do another chapter! It especially helps to have good technology.

So, I remember how I did those question things a while ago, and I realized that while I was getting to know lots about you, you guys probably know little to nothing about me! You all probably think I'm some narcissistic teen with a bad temper. (Hey, you're right!) But when you review, feel free to ask me anything you want, as long as it's not too personal or inappropriate or anything.

Also, I got a Tumblr! I'm GingerGem on that site. Follow me if you please!

**Reviews are like sprinkles on top of a cupcake. So please give me more.**


	18. The Arrival at Hemlock

Bluh bluh bluh I am the worst to you guys. Sorry, it's been awhile, I know, just read and hopefully be pleased with whatever words my brain vomits.

* * *

I awoke slowly, without trouble or start as usually happens when I'm waking up to take my shift of the watch. Gummy crud that lined my eyelids made it difficult to tear them open, but tear them open I did. I didn't really care where I was, or how I came to sleep there. I just hugged the large, warm quilt to my chest and soaked up every bit of peace and silence I could get. Sluggishly, I realized that I had things to take care of and couldn't lie around all day while an evil spirit in human form wreaked havoc on the country and possibly tried to overthrow the current monarchy.

Because that would be _lazy._

It was only when I lifted my head, did I realize how much my whole body ached. I had been sword training for the past week, and I did just help fend off a horde of attackers the night before, so it wasn't unexpected. It was simply inconvenient and uncomfortable.

With only a slight cringe, I rolled out of the soft bed and shakily stood. I fisted my eyes to wipe away all crusty residue, and yawned deeply. Mornings had never been my best times. I walked to the foot of the bed to assess myself in the large mirror that sat only a few feet away. Yep, I was still pale and slightly freckly. Yep, my hair still looked god-awful. Yep, I still only slightly resembled a girl. And yep, looking at my pitiful reflection that hardly resembled the old me did absolutely nothing to amp up my morning. It really just made me feel that much worse.

_Okay, _I told myself. _Time to get to work._ I grabbed the bone comb that sat on the dresser when my eyesight was finally clear. The unbelievably short hair was too easy to comb through, and I repeatedly scraped the top of my ears with the sharp comb. I would comb, sigh, comb, scrape, curse, then have to stanch the blood seeping out of the cuts on my ears. It was a tedious, annoying process that took longer than it should have. Once I was done, though, I sought out a small, thin knife that lay sheathed in my pack. I stood close to the mirror as I could, and began my makeshift haircut.

Blonde hair fell in little pieces constantly as I touched up my rough, uneven cut. I was no master stylist and would originally never have trimmed my own hair, but just because I was a dirty assassin of sorts did not mean I couldn't try to look nice. In a few minutes, my hairstyle went from shabby and terribly odd to somewhat shaggy but even, at the least. It wasn't even close to the chic hairdo that most celebrities get when they go short, but it was good enough for me.

I had gotten very tired of looking at myself when a hesitant, quiet knock disturbed my thoughts. I looked to the door, and heard heavy, shuffling footsteps behind it. I wielded the knife and braced for the worst, as had become the norm these last few weeks. I slowly turned the knob and took a peek at my possible attacker, then shoved the door fully. If he had wanted to kill me, he would have done it the minute I turned the knob. The door came open the rest of the way by my push's momentum to reveal a dressed, cleaned Will. Since last night he had shaved, cut his hair, and apparently taken a bath.

"Emilie, glad you're awake. I didn't know you had freckles," he allowed himself in and I slapped a hand to my chin, blushing angrily.

"Do we have to leave soon?" I asked, already putting away my things. He nodded, and entered the washroom.

"Yes. Get your stuff ready, Halt should be here with our horses and supplies in just a little bit. He may even bring Horace, if he feels up to lugging him around the rest of the journey."

I slipped on some new tanned leather boots that were with the clothes I found last night. "Heh. And considering Horace didn't ask Halt too many questions when we left them last night. That seems like Halt's pet peeve."

Will laughed. "You have no idea," he murmured, and exited the washroom. He carried a small pouch that was in his hand when he walked in, but seemed slightly fuller now. "What is that?" I inquired, nodding to the pouch.

"Hmm? Oh. Well, since we aren't going to be stopping by an inn anytime soon, I thought I would take a few mementos. See for yourself."

I pulled the drawstring on the bag he tossed, and was met with a sweet aroma that reminded me of summer days spent in a meadow. Back then, anything clean was a slice of heaven on earth, and the little collection of soaps in the leather bag was no exception. Snatching soaps from a hotel was something even I did before, so this reminder of home was a welcome gift. I closed my eyes and relished the scent. "Cleanliness has never felt so amazing."

Will shrugged and accepted the bag again. "Good luck getting Halt to bathe. Any chance he has to grow out his beard and stop cleaning behind his ears is like Christmas to him."

* * *

We met up with Horace and Halt outside the inn within the next hour. Our packs seemed to have been replenished with extra blankets, medical supplies and food since I last saw them. "The attackers were more than pleased to contribute to our diminishing supplies from their own provisions," Halt answered when questioned.

"Well, once we tied them to a few trees and interrogated them, they didn't protest much when we looted their horses." Horace smiled from the top of Kicker, and I couldn't help but smile back. At that point, I had pretty much fallen into their sense of right and wrong, than the one I owned previously. Food was food, no matter where it came from or who we had to tie up to nab it.

"And, also," Halt slipped a hand into a satchel hanging on Abelard and produced an oval-shaped silver mirror. It glistened in the yellow sunlight, sending flecks of shimmer onto the ground and into my eyes. It was one of the prettiest things I had seen in a very long time. "We happened to find this in a sack of theirs, which we thought you may like." The mirror was extended to me, but I did not want to accept for a moment. I shook my head slightly, pushing the mirror back to Halt.

"That was nice of you, but I would rather not see myself anymore. At least, not for a long time," I moved past Halt to reach Willow, who huffed softly at my appearance. If Halt had been my father, I would have suspected him to give me a speech about how no, I was beautiful, I should enjoy my image, and try to lift my self-esteem. Instead, he shrugged and put the mirror back. "Suit yourself."

We strapped into our horses and rode off on the main road. It was nice to not have slink around some half-blazed trail that was far from any humans, as we had done most other days. Instead, we got to bask in the sunshine and cool breeze that flowed with it. Autumns in Araluen were much more beautiful than any of the ones we had back home. None of the trees had been cleared to build huge cities and towering business plants. None of the wheat fields were paved over to make room for the excessive parking lots and strip malls that were so common back home. Instead, trees of every size and shape bore leaves of the deepest red and most vibrant yellows that trembled and whispered with every breath of wind. The wheat was tall and fine, red and blue flowers speckling the fields like sprinkles on a cupcake. The wheat would move as one in the breeze, bending and swaying together in a delicate ballet.

And the sky! It was the bluest of blues. The sun could've been a large, golden fish, stationary in a Hawaiian ocean. The clouds that swirled and weaved in the blue were pure and white, without and trace of smog or smoke. It was one of the most precious times I had spent in the distant country. The men chattered away and I would sometimes join, too, but mostly I just marveled at my surroundings and relished the fine, clean air that was free of all and any pollution.

It wasn't much later until we were close to Hemlock Creek. This was the place where he and his followers resided in a huge, complex camp. No doubt there would it would be reminiscent of a village, with cooking tents serving as the taverns and other tents used for homes, storage, and privies. I had zoned out for the last leg of the journey, and only snapped back into reality halfway into the plotting of Will, Halt and Horace.

"—which should be safe from any guards he may have, Horace," Halt explained, to which Horace nodded with vigor.

Will's eyebrow arched slightly. "Emilie? Have you been listening to any of this?"

I was caught off guard, and rattled my brain for some answer to make me sound like I was actually vital to the group, and indeed had been paying attention. "Wha—Oh, _of course _I'd been listening." Halt and Horace turned at this, and the three of them gave me that silent, awful look with the one raised eyebrow. My face reddened and I couldn't look to their faces anymore. "Okay, I have no idea what you are all talking about. Now stop looking at me like you think you're smarter than me!"

Halt coughed a short laugh. "Like we _think _we're smarter than you? Little girl, I believe you have a lot to learn about judging your elders like that." His grey eyes gave me a slight, knowing look and I couldn't tell if the chills that shot down my back were from the wind or not. "We are planning to sneak upon him," the older man continued. "And in doing so, we need to get an insider in the camp. Learn where Jonathan's tent is, how to get past, then we kill him. Admittedly, I have seen much harder missions than this."

"So…So, I go in and, ah…stab Jonathan, with my sword, and then this'll all be over?"

Will nodded. "That's what the man in the void led us to assume."

I blinked. "Oh. This was a short journey."

"Whatever you say," Horace murmured with a roll of his clear blue eyes; I was suddenly reminded of all the times I complained and cried. Maybe this was more of a babysitting job than an adventure to them.

"Who's going to go in?" I wondered aloud, and was returned with that eyebrow look by all three of them, the look that made me want to simultaneously gnash my teeth and yank out all the hair I had left.

* * *

I was stripped of my horse and pack, and then sent to wander into the village. Horace, Halt and Will would lie in wait for a message from me in the woods on the outskirts of Hemlock Creek Camp. I had no weapon, shield or any means of defending myself. I hope I looked like some boy, perhaps carrying dirty dishes to the cook, or an indifferent girl, just helping my mother sew the rags. I prayed that the one semester of Drama I took had paid off, because I was not sure if my acting skills were good enough for this job. Would I fit in and get the information I needed? Or, would Jonathan recognize me in the bat of an eye, and slay me then and there? Worst-case scenarios flashed past my eyes faster than rational thought allowed me to process them.

In an effort to calm myself, I thought of home. The well-sized home we owned in the little suburb, with the green shutters over pink brick and the cracked window from when my friends and I were left alone for a day. The sound of my older brother playing street hockey came almost as music to me from the open window when I did my homework in my room. I would sit on my fluffy, crystal-blue paisley bed and text or chat my friends for hours on ends while my mother cooked something very, very spicy. Dad would be away on a business trip. The cool wind would blow scents of poplar trees and dying freesia blooms up to my room. It would be a peaceful night, and the next day there would be school, and then I would go home, and then most days would continue on just as that one had.

Driven by memories, my feet carried me swiftly to the campsite. It was just around one last, final curve. I knew the others followed me closely in the woods just left of me. I closed my eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and walked into the campsite…

Nothing.

Nothing was there. No tents, no cooks, no men, women, or children. No people forming an army, no cult action stewing, and definitely no evil entity waiting to take hold of the nation.

I stood there, stunned. My hope of finally heading home was a snuffed candle. Heck, it wasn't even that someone had quelled the flame, it was as if they had just devoured the candle, then flushed it down the toiled. In an absolute fit of frustration, I exploded. I stomped on the ground and grasped my thinly cut hair, wanting it to be longer just so I could tear it from the roots. I looked like some oddly dressed toddler who had missed her afternoon nap.

My comrades were out of the woods the minute they heard my ranting. I was too fed up, too frustrated to have cared what they said. But, when the haze of anger lifted from my eyes and I cooled my head enough to think, I heard Halt utter the words, "They've gone west."

* * *

Hope you like! Took me about a week to get done, but hey! It's done! Alrighty, I've officially started my swing in High School, so homework will be a constant excuse from me. Lordy, I had forgotten how much school takes it out of you! So I'm constantly tired and even though it's only 11:00 as I write this, I'm tired as crap cause I have to wake up at 5 to get ready every morning. Guys, you have it so lucky! You can just roll out of bed, slap on a shirt and go; It takes me a solid hour just to straighten my hair.

To "nijakitty": Well, sweets are really my weakness so it's gonna be hard to pick! I like apple or chocolate, but really I'll eat any kind, so long as it satisfies my sweet tooth.

******Alright, this is REALLY important: Follow me on Tumblr! You can ask me any question you want, and I can answer back within a couple hours' notice. Also I can keep you updated on when I'll post here or where I am in the chapter. The link to my Tumblr page is posted in my profile here. ******

Also, if you don't have a Tumblr, then get one. It is the best website I have ever visited. Period.

Catchya later, peoples!

-Tempest


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